"Ladies Who Lust" - my introduction to Women in Lust

Women in Lust is so sexy I almost can't even stand it. I have a feeling I'm gonna want to order like 200 copies and pass them out on the street. I won't, because I am trying to be all serious businesswoman here, but I can say that I'm extra excited about it, not just because of the hot cover, or getting to publish new (to me) authors, but because it represents a lot of things I've gone through in my life and identify with, and that I think other women (and men) will to, along with being damn fucking hot. I recommend reading it somewhere you can get off. There's food porn, sex with strangers, travel porn, trysts, BDSM, oral sex, biting, a cowboy, masturbation, cutting and so much more. I feel like it's a birthday present to myself.

I'm excited to be so excited about my work again; it inspires me in all the puzzle pieces of randomness I'm cobbling together that I should bring that fervor to everything, or else not even bother. I linked to Amazon above but will have more purchasing links (and yes, there will be a Kindle edition). The official pub date is November 15 but it will likely be in stores earlier, and stay tuned to @raquelita on Twitter (me!) for free book offer for Amazon reviewers closer to the pub date. Trust me, if you only read one of my books, this is the one to get. Not that I don't love them all, but...there's nothing held back here and I'm thrilled with how daring and bold these characters get.

Ladies Who Lust

Lust. It’s one of those four-letter words that trips off the tongue. When I say it out loud, it makes my lips want to curve into a smile. Lust is more than simple arousal; it is the force that makes us not just turned on, but craving a certain person (or people).

I used to write a sex column called “Lusty Lady,” named after the famed strip club, but somehow lusty, rhyming as it does with busty, sounds a bit like a joke, an added bit of humor, which is how our culture often treats sex. Lust, though, is different; it’s intense, overpowering. While in real life we may not always act every time lust calls to us, in fiction, we can abandon the safety of propriety and seek out lust and sex wherever we find them.

The characters in Women in Lust may vary in the objects of their lust, and how they go about acting on their urge, but what connects them is that pure impulse for a lover. Sometimes he is someone she knows well, is married to or dating; in other stories, he is a stranger, and is sexy precisely because he represents the unknown. Women also lust after other women here, as in Kayar Silkenvoice’s Japanese happy ending massage story, “Cherry Blossom,” and while we only hear one side of the story, I’d like to think the working woman is doing more than just her job. In addition to the culture clash, there’s the joy of throwing caution to the wind while on vacation, using travel to broaden one’s sexual horizons. Whether watching a lover playing guitar, using a webcam, going out for a smoke or simply embracing a chance encounter, these women seize the opportunities presented to them, and savor the lovers who teach them about themselves and help them open up to new sensual possibilities. Sometimes that means looking at the man they live with in a new light, and other times that means something much naughtier. Either way, their lust is a valued part of their lives, not a pesky afterthought or to-do list item on “date night.”

The objects of their lust are not always the “right” person. In “Rain,” a woman falls for her best friend’s boyfriend, one of the ultimate dating taboos, but she goes for it. Sometimes the desire itself, the way it can be used to tease and taunt, as in Charlotte Stein’s “Guess,” is maddening, but we embrace our lusts even when they are maddening, even when they make us do things we might otherwise consider reckless.

For every woman here who can locate her lust on the map of her body, who zeros in on her target and goes for it, there is another who is opened up to her lust by a lover, whether it’s Jen Cross’s narrator pondering what it was, exactly, her orally generous long-ago lover got out of being between her legs. The first words of Shanna Germain’s powerfully kinky “Beneath My Skin” are “I’m afraid,” to which her lover, Kade, responds, “You should be.” Fear can be a powerful motivator and, crossed with lust, can lead to explosive results.

Whether discovering the joy of a younger man, not to mention some delicious pudding, in “Comfort Food,” by Donna George Storey, or taking sex and bondage into the great outdoors in “Something to Ruin” by Amelia Thornton, these women indulge in new ways of getting off and pushing the limits of their lust. Thornton writes: “Despite my longing, there was still part of me that wanted to protest, to tell him to cut me loose, to run wildly through the forest back to the safety of our picnic blanket, but to me that is the beauty of rope: to desire escape but to willingly be imprisoned, to feel the pressure of something that prevents my movement, yet to know there is no place that I feel safer than when trapped like this.” She captures the excitement of giving in to a dominant lover, even when there is a small part of the narrator that is unsure, for that is precisely the part that fuels her desire. This story captures the true power that lies in submission and the many joys it can bring. In “Her, Him and Them,” by Aimee Pearl, the narrator submits to various lovers who question her and push her not only to be the best sub she can be, but to figure out why, exactly, she likes the thrill of submission and service.

I hope these stories inspire some lusty days and nights for you, as they’ have for me.

Rachel Kramer Bussel
New York City



Introduction: Ladies Who Lust

Naughty Thoughts Portia Da Costa
Guess Charlotte Stein
Her, Him and Them Aimee Pearl
Bayou Clancy Nacht
Smoke Elizabeth Coldwell
Bite Me Lucy Hughes
Ride a Cowboy Del Carmen
Queen of Sheba Jen Cross
Hot for Teacher Rachel Kramer Bussel
Unbidden Brandy Fox
Something to Ruin Amelia Thornton
Guitar Hero Kin Fallon
Ode to a Masturbator Aimee Herman
Orchid Jacqueline Applebee
Cherry Blossom Kayar Silkenvoice
Rain Olivia Archer
The Hard Way Justine Elyot
Strapped K D Grace
Beneath My Skin Shanna Germain
Comfort Food Donna George Storey

Announcing the Table of Contents for Women in Lust

I'm so thrilled with the gorgeous, gorgeous cover Cleis Press gave me for Women in Lust, which will be out just in time for my 36th birthday and features a stellar lineup of international writers. What's inside promises t be just as sexy as the cover. Once I get it back from copyediting I'll post my introduction. For now, you can pre-order it from Amazon (if you're planning to buy it, this helps sales because pre-orders let stores/online shops know that there's an audience and they buy more, and, generally, the better my books do, the bigger the print runs, the more opportunities I get to edit more) and I'll add to the official site and link to it when I can. I'm trying to wean myself off buying postcards for books because they wind up littering (literally) my apartment but for this one I may feel compelled to, in a small quantity.

Another happy editorial aspect of this book and most of my recent ones is working with authors I've never worked with before. Sorry if I miss any of you, but in this case, that means Lucy Hughes, Del Carmen, Brandy Fox, Kin Fallon and Kayar Silkenvoice. I do my best to include new (to me) authors in all my books and am thrilled to be able to keep doing so. This is an extremely hot and wide-ranging book that I think you'll enjoy. So more about it closer to the pub date.



Women in Lust
Edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel

Introduction: Ladies Who Lust

Naughty Thoughts Portia Da Costa
Guess Charlotte Stein
Her, Him and Them Aimee Pearl
Bayou Clancy Nacht
Smoke Elizabeth Coldwell
Bite Me Lucy Hughes
Ride a Cowboy Del Carmen
Queen of Sheba Jen Cross
Hot for Teacher Rachel Kramer Bussel
Unbidden Brandy Fox
Something to Ruin Amelia Thornton
Guitar Hero Kin Fallon
Ode to a Masturbator Aimee Herman
Orchid Jacqueline Applebee
Cherry Blossom by Kayar Silkenvoice
Rain Olivia Archer
The Hard Way Justine Elyot
Strapped K D Grace
Beneath My Skin Shanna Germain
Comfort Food Donna George Storey

Here's a little teaser from my back to school story "Hot for Teacher" - you'll have to buy the book to read the whole thing!

From "Hot for Teacher" by Rachel Kramer Bussel:

Then, staring at herself in the mirror, Meredith lifted her right breast and tucked her head down so she could suck on her own nipple. The flood of emotion and arousal was so intense she had to lean her left hand against the counter. She spread her legs, wondering if Professor Arthur was circumcised, picturing his cock as big and thick and aching just for her. She kept going, making sure to watch her every move, so that when she did go to her hot professor’s office hours, it wasn’t as a true schoolgirl, skittish and nervous, relying on her youthful charm and giggly giddiness, but as a mature woman who could tap into that spirit, but also had something more to offer. For all her pleated-skirt fantasies, what Meredith wanted was to be treated like a womanæa woman who knew exactly what she wanted, even if what she wanted was to be manhandled by a younger nerdy man who just so happened to hold her academic future in his hands.

She searched her closet, determined to find something there capable of seduction. She could afford to shop, at least a little, but Meredith wanted something familiar, a reminder that even in all these years when dating had taken a backseat to the mundane truths of Real Life and mothering, she’d remembered the girl who threw her bra onstage and got fingered backstage, who was wet and wild and carefree. She rummaged and rummaged and finally, in the back of the closet, found a red and purple dress she vaguely remembered buying, if not wearing. There were no tags on it, but the purple silk outlining the red shimmery fabric made her smile. She immediately shucked off her t-shirt and jeans and slipped it over her head, seeing that she’d need a new bra, one to be worn strategically peeking out from beneath this dress’s straps.

She turned sideways, admiring the way the dress clung to her breasts, proud of them, proud of herself for not having even considered having them lifted or added to, the way so many of the women she knew had done. Meredith cupped her hands over her breasts, letting her nipples peek out, hoping Professor Arthur would like her in this dress, like her as more than a student. She decided maybe she didn’t need a bra, after all--or panties. If she was going to go for it, she was going to go for it.

Free cupcakes at San Francisco reading with Violet Blue January 28th at Booksmith

To those who were at our last fabulous reading, it was packed, and we signed lots of books and gave out lots of cupcakes. I hope to do so again so pretty please, tell your SF friends about this one. I'll be reading "Espionage" from Best Women's Erotica 2011 (and it'll soon be available for your listening pleasure). Plus I get to host Dusty Horn (who Violet introduced me to at Litquake in 2009!), Susie Hara and Donna George Storey, both of whom I met via working with Susie Bright. See you at Booksmith! (And Donna George Storey and I also read the night before, January 27th, at Good Vibrations in Berkeley.)

Free sex story: snow and ice in "Chilly Girl" from Smooth: Erotic Stories for Women

Another free erotica story for you, this one seasonally appropriate! From Smooth: Erotic Stories for Women, by me! You have until Friday for 20% off when buying books directly from Cleis Press.



Smooth: Erotic Stories for Women; is an erotic anthology edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel, was published by Cleis Press in September 2010.

The caress of skin against skin, the warmth of another’s touch, relishing the sight that few others get to see — these are the reasons that disrobing before sex can be so gratifying. The stories in Smooth, collected by award-winning erotic editor Rachel Kramer Bussel, capture the heat of being stripped bare, of flaunting your body, and of reveling in pure sensuality. Read along as women get tattooed, become “the sushi girl” at a restaurant, strip on the subway, go commando, host tea parties, enjoy sploshing, and much more. Featuring stories by Donna George Storey, Heidi Champa, Angela Caperton, Charlotte Stein, Louisa Harte, Jacqueline Applebee, Susan St. Aubin and other leading erotica writers, these adventurous characters have more to reveal than just being naked.



Order Smooth: Erotic Stories for Women from:



Amazon.com



Kindle edition



Bn.com (Barnes & Noble)



Books-a-Million



Borders



Powell's



IndieBound (find your local independent bookstore)



Cleis Press

Chilly Girl
by Rachel Kramer Bussel

Chilly Girls: that was the name of the website I’d seen when I’d come into Alex’s office to see if he wanted any coffee before I settled in for the night, there in bright, bold, big, orange, graffiti-like writing atop white sloping hills. Chilly, in this case, meant naked girls plopped on top of piles of snow, hence the white. I didn’t see much more as his finger hovered on the cursor for just a moment before he clicked it back to his screenplay, turned to me and, with a totally straight face, said, “Can you make me a decaf?”

I’d called up to him a few moments earlier to see if he needed anything; I knew he was in the throes of it, and from earlier experience, I knew that my husband could become so stuck in his head he forgot basic life functions, like eating or sleeping. His first script had sold to an indie production company and was only now, six years later, actually finding its way to the big—or rather, medium-size—screen. His work on the second had meant that I’d slept alone many nights, only awakening when he crawled into bed at three or four or five and wrapped his tired body around me.
Now, as I went downstairs, I felt not only duped--here I’d been bringing Alex meal after meal, waiting on him basically hand and foot even though I was the one mainly responsible for bringing home the bacon--I also felt like the most boring woman alive. I wasn’t jealous, just annoyed; not only had I not known my husband had a snow fetish, I didn’t even know snow fetishes existed!

What did he need to look at those girls for? I hadn’t felt any competition with porn when I was dating guys, but this was my husband, the man whose ring I wore 24/7, who I thought I knew almost better than he knew himself, and here he was, not even letting me know that he liked to take breaks by looking at girls making naked snow angels and doing dirty things with icicles. I’d thought we were a modern couple, the type who watched porn together, like we did the one time we’d found an old theater that was harkening back to its roots by showing Deep Throat. We’d sat there, hands clutching each other, while men thirty years our senior shuffled around us, furtively trying to recreate their more youthful experiences. We’d been young then, in our twenties; now, we were in our forties. Did that mean we couldn’t take risks anymore? Or that if we did, we had to hide them from each other?

I looked down at my threadbare white T-shirt, the one that used to delight me because my nipples showed through, and my black and hot-pink gym shorts and immediately felt underdressed. Maybe he was looking at those girls because he wanted the kind of woman who’d do something like that, who’d throw caution to the wind, or, in this case, the snow, instead of one who brought him coffee and made him dinner. That was all well and good, but was snow really that sexy? Not when you lived in Minneapolis and the prospect of it could threaten to ruin any plans you may so foolishly have made.

I could still easily recall the last snowstorm in March that had left us housebound for two days. Even after the worst of it was over, the dregs of it had lingered. The only upside was that we were all more appreciative of the clear roads and the warm sun later. I was thrilled that it was finally summer and we had a while before we had to worry about any more storms. Who’d choose snow over sun? Yet if this was something Alex was really into, I wanted to know more. Maybe I was missing something, like the time he’d insisted I try just a dab of wasabi on my tongue, after my umpteenth order of chicken teriyaki. I’d been afraid it would sear my insides, but I’d found I liked the rush of fire to my tongue and now regularly cooked with wasabi paste.

I didn’t say anything to him at first. I didn’t know what to say as I absorbed this shock. I wanted to be angry, like I might be if he was cheating on me, but he wasn’t, not at all. I was more curious than upset, the feeling edged with a hint of arousal. I wanted to be the kind of girl who’d do something like that--who’d do it, and like it. And the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to know exactly what it felt like: Would my skin recoil at the shock of the cold? Or would it be like those moments when I ran an ice cube along my bare neck on a hot day, or dared to pass my finger through a candle flame?

When I was alone with my trusty vibrator, the one I sometimes thought of as my diary, my therapist, my beloved, I talked to myself, playing out the scene. At first, all I could think was, Cold, cold, cold. Would I be facedown in the snow, my face caressing its tender blanket of whiteness, my nipples forming indentations, my backside on display? Or would he want me to make a naked snow angel, flapping my wings, snow inching its way between my legs, encasing my labia?

I kept on going, though, imagining the moment after my skin connected with the frosty flakes, when I’d settled into the snow, become one with it--and pictured Alex watching me. I imagined him holding his cock above me, jerking off, warming me with his come. That did itæI came, my body shaking even as I shivered at the phantom chill.
But how to go about telling him I wanted to do this without him thinking I’d spied on him? After all, it was sunny, the middle of August, not exactly prime snow season. So instead I waited. And practiced. Over the next month I took ice-cold showers, gradually getting used to the way the blast hit my skin. Instead of flinching away, I stood proudly, back arched, nipples bared to the blast. It was a form of masochism, to be sure, but though I’m stubborn as a mule, I also have a submissive streak. Whether in this case I was submitting to Alex or myself or nature, I wasn’t sure, I just knew I wanted to do it.

I made friends with ice cubes, making sure to fish them out of my water or soda and tuck one into my mouth. Alone, the nights Alex was working late or if he wasn’t around, I’d stare at myself in my full-length mirror, tracing a piece of ice that had been softened by the warmth of my hand along my neck and on down, watching the icy rivulets trail down my pale peach skin. My nipples perked up when the ice hit my areolas, and I found myself simultaneously craving the cube and fearing it. In some ways, the ice was probably more intense than the snow would be, but I felt like I was training for my own personal sexual marathon. And the more I did it, the more I liked itæplus I liked having a secret, an erotic thrill all my own.

The added bonus was that I got to know my body in a whole new way. I used to think that didn’t happen once you’re in your thirties, once you’re married, once you’ve crossed some line where you assume you’ve done all you can when it comes to sexual experimentation. But as I gasped in pleasure while tracing a cube of ice along my labia, then pressing it inside, I knew I’d never reach that point. I could be a chilly girl--or any kind of girl I wanted. And even though it was only September, I knew I had to tell Alex, to share this discovery with him. It was hot and sexy, but it would be more fun with him.

I decided to tell him in the kitchen, a somewhat neutral zone. It was a warm day and I kept flapping the freezer door open and sticking my head inside, then I took out an ice cube and tucked it inside my bra. I kept fidgeting and finding excuses to poke my head in the freezer until Alex finally asked me what was wrong. “Well, it’s hot out…and I wanted to see what it was like. You know,” I said, my voice softening in what I hoped was a seductive way. I hadn’t had to truly seduce anyone in so long, I didn’t know if that side of me still worked. Married sex was different; we didn’t need the social cues and niceties most of the time. We could go after what we wanted without (much) fear of rejection. I realized I was trembling from more than just the ice cube.

“What do you mean by that?” he asked, watching me closely. Had I let too much slip in my tone?

“I just meant…okay, look. I hate secrets and I have to tell you something. I walked into your office one day and you were looking at a site. Chilly Girls. Girls in the snow. Naked girls in the snow. It got me thinking about what that would be like. And I want to find out. With you. I want you to fuck me in the snow.” That last part hadn’t been part of the speech I’d rehearsed in my head, but there it was, not just the words, but the image in my head: me beneath him, my ass pressed deep into the snow while his hard, hot cock drilled into me in the way that always makes me warm all over.

Alex looked away, his face bright red. I couldn’t tell if he was mad; yes, even after all these years, he’s managed to maintain a poker face worthy of Lady Gaga. Then he started laughing, a little at first, then harder and harder. “April, are you serious? I just figured it was a porn thing.” He sighed. “You don’t have anything to be jealous about, baby. I don’t really want the girls in the snow, or even a girl in the snow. It’s just something fun to look at.”

I didn’t totally believe him. “But then how come you never said anything?”

“Well…it’s private. It’s what I jerk off to.”

“I guess I can understand that; I have fantasies too. I just feel like we’ve been growing apart, and I want us to be close again, as close as we can be. And I want it now for me, not just for you. I want to be a chilly girl. I want to see what it’s like.”

“You do? You aren’t nervous?”

“Of course I’m nervous! But remember when we used to do all kinds of wild and crazy things? Why can’t we be like that again?”

“Okay, but it’s September. Where are we going to find snow? Unless you know something I don’t?”

“We could take a trip. Or we could just…practice. With ice.”

His face lit up and he grabbed me. “I have an idea. You remember Ralph? He runs that butcher shop? I bet he’d let us in the freezer.”

Okay, so sex in a meat locker wasn’t exactly what I’d been after, but I liked his spirit. Just then, though, he told me to lie in the bathtub and put on my face mask…only now it would be a blindfold. I lay there in the claw-foot tub we’d spent a fortune on, one I regularly dropped paperback novels in as I luxuriated in the heat of a hot bath. Now, my nipples stiffened, prepared for the opposite. I sank back against the bath pillow, letting my fingers dawdle at my breasts, lightly stroking my sex.
And then the tumbling started--the tumbling of ice cubes. Alex poured all the ones we’d had in the freezer into the bath, then took one and traced it from the back of my neck on down. “I’m going to cover you in ice cubes. I’m going to fill this bath with them and fill your pussy with them and even shove one up your ass and let it leak out. I’m going to make you cold right down to your bones--and you’re going to like it.” His voice wasn’t sinister, exactly, but there was a hint of danger, a dark edge that made me shiver in a new way. He lifted the mask and I looked up at him and he leaned down and kissed me, his tongue reaching for mine. Just as I got lost in the kiss, I felt an ice cube press against the side of my neck, the equivalent of a snowball landed square on an unsuspecting bystander.

I pulled my tongue away, but I didn’t protest. I’d asked for this, and as the cubes settled around me, I realized I liked it. In some ways this was more intense than a snowy mountainside, but that had never been the real point anyway. I’d wanted him to see me as the girl who’d do anything--for him. I reached for a cube and ran it against my nipple, smiling when he helped.

Alex made me lie there and simply soak in the cold for half an hour; we didn’t get the tub all the way full, but it was enough. He climbed in with me, helping me warm up as the ice water lapped against my skin. He was hard, his cock wedging itself between my legs. For a second I wondered if he’d be able to keep his erection, but I soon learned that wasn’t a problem. I screamed as his cock sank into me, the heat emanating from him such a contrast to the rest of my surroundings. “Oh, god, you feel so good. I’m sorry I made you think I preferred anyone to you. You’re my favorite girl in hot and cold weather.” He laughed, then stopped as I shifted, hiking one foot up against the shower wall and throwing the other in the air. His hands cupped my bottom as he thrust hard into me. I focused entirely on Alex--on his gritted teeth, his light brown hair falling in his face, his firm chest and his cock, pushing into me, stretching me. I forgot for a few seconds about hot and cold, right and wrong and was simply lulled by the power of meeting him where my sex surrounded him. When I came, I clutched the edge of the tub hard, sinking back against the pillow. He pulled out and let me watch him come in the air, the liquid landing in our bath.

Alex wrapped me up in my fluffy purple robe, then made me hot chocolate with minimarshmallows and let me watch my favorite old sitcoms. He pampered me for the rest of the night, and continued to do so the rest of the week, like I’d accomplished some major feat. And maybe I had. I’d conquered my fears, my demons, my belief that those girls had something I didn’t. And I was never going back.

We’re planning a series of ski resort vacations, but the one I’m most looking forward to is at a resort that caters to nudists. Alex is taking his camera, and I’m continuing to practice.

Kindle edition of Orgasmic out now!

Click through below to buy Orgasmic: Erotic Stories for Women on Kindle, or click here to watch the book trailer and read the table of contents and introduction.

Sacramento Book Review says Fast Girls "not just stories of slut after slut"

Alex Barclay reviewed my anthology Fast Girls: Erotica for Women for Sacramento Book Review:

From the strictly sexual to the deeper, and sometimes darker, emotions that accompany sex, Fast Girls mines the range of human emotions. Blatant and unapologetically sexy, Fast Girls features some of the best voices in new erotica. From a communal shower to a kinky sex club, from myriad toys to strictly skin, these girls don’t say no or take it for an answer.

Editor Rachel Kramer Bussel defines fast as both wild and promiscuous, as according to Webster, but her selection of stories seeks something else, something deeper, not just stories of slut after slut, but stories of women who defy social norms, are bold and dynamic, with something to realize about sex and about themselves. The stories reflect what it is to be fast, being promiscuous and defying, both in states of mind as well as in states of motion. All of them speak to the reader on a deeper level as the women defy social conventions, raise eyebrows, and embrace what it is to be “fast.” Read it fast or slow, this anthology delivers.



Order Fast Girls: Erotica for Women from:

Amazon.com

Kindle edition

Bn.com

Books-a-Million



Borders

Powell's

IndieBound (find your local independent bookstore)

Cleis Press

Sauna sex story "Löyly" sneak peek: Smooth: Erotic Stories for Women

In the next week or so my editor copies of Smooth: Erotic Stories for Women (once upon a time called Naked, but it's been a big year for me of changing book titles, but still hot and bare bodied as ever!) and I wanted to share this sexy excerpt from Angela Caperton's story "Löyly" that's on the PGW site. There's lots of hotness in the book, including a tattoo story and a tattoo removal story!



You can pre-order Smooth now or I'll have 10 early copies to give away to those who promise to write an Amazon.com review within a month of receipt and are in the US (if you can't review, please DON'T request a copy - should be obvious but, um, not so much). I do those giveaways usually via Twitter but this is a heads up; send your Amazon.com profile (so I know you've purchased from them at least once and are eligible, via their terms) and your US mailing address with "Amazon" in the subject line to nakedantho at gmail.com and I'll send the first 10 people books as soon as they arrive. More about this book as we get closer to pub date. For now, do check out the Fast Girls virtual book tour and Orgasmic blog. Soon I'll get the Smooth site in order and links to all the lovely places you can purchase it.

Description:

The caress of skin against skin, the warmth of another’s touch, relishing the sight that few others get to see – these are the reasons that disrobing before sex can be so gratifying. The stories in Smooth, collected by award-winning erotica editor Rachel Kramer Bussel, capture the heat of being stripped bare, of flaunting your body, and of reveling in pure sensuality. Read along as women get tattooed, become “the sushi girl” at a restaurant, strip on the subway, go commando, host tea parties, enjoy sploshing and much more. Featuring stories by Donna George Storey, Heidi Champa, Angela Caperton, Charlotte Stein, Louisa Harte, Jacqueline Applebee, Susan St. Aubin and more, these adventurous characters have more to reveal than just being naked.

Excerpt:
Löyly
by Angela Caperton

Alone, at the north end of nowhere, I looked out through the rented Equinox’s windshield at the green roof of the hotel. Copper. Copper had been king in this part of Michigan a lifetime ago. In a more civilized place, the owners of the hotel might have to hire a private army to keep thieves from stripping the roof, but not out here?it was too far away from anything to warrant the attention of scavengers.

I really had lost my mind. What the fuck was I going to do at a snowbound resort on Lake Superior in fucking November? Damn you to hell, Jeff. “Best snowmobiling in the country! You’ll love it!”

“You’ll love it,” I mimicked as I clutched the steering wheel and contemplated spinning out of the driveway and hauling ass back to Savannah.

A young man--puppy, really--stepped smartly down the wide steps that lead to a wide wraparound porch. His navy blue parka was unzipped, the hotel logo shining gold on the right shoulder. He walked around the front of the SUV and opened the driver’s door.

“Welcome to Sorrow Cove!” He puffed mist and the blast of cold air that slapped me in the face nearly killed me. I shut off the engine of the SUV, took the keys and my purse, and exited the car.

The young man efficiently scribbled information on a claim ticket and I handed him the keys.

“Your name, miss?” he asked as he made notes on the ticket.

“Andie Fortner.”

He nodded and handed me the claim ticket. “Your luggage in the back?”

“Yes.”

“My name’s Luke. I’ll park your car and take your bags to your room, Miss Fortner. Enjoy your stay at Sorrow Cove.” He grinned at me with genuine hospitality and I found my cheeks cracking against the cold to return it.

“Thank you,” I managed, hoping my dismay at my own idiocy didn’t echo in the words.

He drove away. I stood for a moment in the grey slush of the driveway and stared up at the mammoth Queen Anne style mansion, water dripping in a steady stream from its gutters. Snow covered every inch of the landscape, weighing down massive boughs of cedars and evergreens, topping winter-bare hedges and what I imagined were lush lawns in the summer.
Snow. Goddamn snow.

“Fuck,” I said under my breath as I made my way into the hotel.


I stared at the dull mourning-grey ceiling of the spacious room. A deliciously soft bed cradled me in the warmth of my own body. I didn’t want to move, didn’t dare breach the cocoon I’d wrapped around myself. Jeff should have been there with me, his strong arms around me, his cock nudging my ass, a living alarm clock. He liked fucking in the mornings, liked working out the kinks with a ride or a suck. Bastard.

Why had I listened to Sonia? “Just go, honey! It’s already paid for, I bet there aren’t any refunds. Extending his contract in Riyadh was Jeff’s choice?not yours.”

No more. Jeff had blown me off more times than I could count, and this little vacation had been his idea, not mine. I pulled the covers over my head and spent the next several minutes envisioning Jeff being eaten by cannibal Eskimos.

I groaned and shoved the covers away, letting the blast of morning air temper my resolve. I wasn’t going to stay in bed and wallow. After all, Lake Superior was practically at my doorstep and I had made it this far. Within an hour I had showered, dressed, and armed myself with a map, determination, and a pocket full of credit cards. A little breakfast and I’d be ready to tackle anything.

Except a blizzard.

I stepped off the stairs into the lobby, dominated by wide bay windows that provided guests with a glorious view of the cove, the lake, and the woods on the east side of the estate. This morning the view was monochromatic, swirling, thick white with whiter highlights battering the panes of glass. I ignored the ball of unease forming in my stomach and walked into the empty dining room, the massive fireplace on one end filling the room with warmth and the pleasant scent of burning wood. A young woman in tight jeans and a thick sweater smiled at me and motioned. “Please, have a seat. Can I get you coffee?”

“Black.” I looked out the windows again and smiled. “Big.”

I ate my breakfast in silence, watched a few couples come and go, listened to the murmurs of quiet conversation and willed the snow to stop. I can handle a lot of things, but a big SUV in a white-out was not one of them.

Full of coffee and breakfast, I made my way to the front desk. “Good morning, Ms. Fortner. How can I help you?”

“What can you tell me about the weather?”

The clerk’s bald head nearly blushed. “The snow should slow by tomorrow.”

“Slow?”

“Yes, we’re in for a few days of it here, but tomorrow the snowmobiling and cross country skiing should be excellent.”

“I was hoping to do a little sightseeing actually, maybe some shopping.”

He didn’t laugh, didn’t even smile, but I could feel his desire to do both. “The roads to town are closed right now, Ms. Fortner. They should be open tomorrow, once the plows come through.”

I nodded as I envisioned myself holed up for days, only one room service tray away from hanging myself with shoelaces.
“My credit cards are safe for another day,” I said sardonically.

“There’s a game room to the left, and a small gym and indoor pool behind the dining room. And the sauna. It’s not in the main building, but you can get to it from the pool area, or from the hall exit. Just follow the walkway.”

I looked out the windows at the endless falling wall of white. Sure. Just follow the walkway. My luck, I’d end up in Canada.

“Thank you,” I said, and headed back up the stairs to my room, kicking myself in the ass all the way. I should have fucking held out for Martinque.


I’d been surprised by the pool, really. I knew from making the reservations that the resort had a pool, but I wasn’t expecting a pool I could actually do laps in. Who knew the tundra tribe understood the needs of us south-coasters. The heated water and condensation on the broad bay windows made me feel at home?except for the snow beyond, of course.

I swam for an hour, then I dragged my pruned body out of the pool, showered in the little changing room, and stepped back out on the deck to stand transfixed by the vista beyond the foggy windows. While annoyed by the shitty weather, I loved the beauty and serenity of the snowfall. The large flakes drifted down completely at the whim of whatever wind might blow. Some fell heavy, wet, like obese calcified raindrops, others drifted to the ground in intricate Zen paths.

The perfect blanket over the ground amazed me. Painted green, the smoothness of the carpet would have been the envy of Augusta National.

Except for the quickly filling divots leading off into the veil. Footprints made not long ago, headed toward what?

The sauna. Someone apparently had a GPS and had found the temple of Sorrow Cove.

The grin started in my belly, and without a moment’s analysis, I wrapped my robe around myself, scuffed on my rubber clogs and found the door leading outside. The blast of cold air almost made me run back to my room, but I had to do this?I had to beat the elements, had to take control of the vacation I’d never wanted but had inherited. If this trip was going to have any meaning, I needed to make it my own, not let it stay Jeff’s irrelevancy.

The snow kissed my hair and clung to my robe, the cold air keeping it from melting right away...

Read the whole story in Smooth: Erotic Stories for Women!

Smooth: Erotic Stories for Women
Edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel

Introduction: Naked Girls in All Their Glory

Löyly Angela Caperton
Her Brand New Skin Elizabeth Coldwell
Eden Molly Slate
Three Stops Away Heidi Champa
The Sushi Girl Anika Gupta
This Night Suzanna V. Slate
Ink Jennifer Peters
Adornment is Power Teresa Noelle Roberts
Muscle Bound K D Grace
Shower Fittings Giselle Renarde
Clean Slate Lisabet Sarai
Live Action Susan St. Aubin
Chilly Girl Rachel Kramer Bussel
Stripped Clancy Nacht
The Tea Party Charlotte Stein
Rapunzel Jacqueline Applebee
Getting the Message Kay Jaybee
Ivy League Associates Donna George Storey
True Colors Louisa Harte

Introduction: Naked Girls in All Their Glory

Smooth. Sleek. Naked. Bare. All of these words describe the women you’ll find in this book, women who let you peek beneath their skirt hems, unbutton their blouses, reach inside their panties and in so doing, reveal something essential about themselves. They aren’t content to simply let sex happen, but are compelled to explore the ways their bodies react to every tactile moment.

These are not stories about body image or learning to love your curves. These are sensual tales in which women and men celebrate the joy of being carnal, lusty, hungry and animalistic; stories in which the urge to get naked, in the literal and figurative senses, drives women to boldly go where they haven’t before.

In the opening story, the stunning sauna romp “Löyly,” by Angela Caperton, Sorrow Cove becomes a very happy place when our heroine, Andie, submits to a sensual beating in the intense heat. Caperton writes, “Blood pounded in my veins and pooled suspiciously in my belly. Anticipation added an edge of tension and vulnerability before the bright shock of the strike. It wasn’t hard, but the leaves laced my skin with firm control, a lush wetness and a shimmer of sting that slashed my back with an awakening charge of delight. I closed my eyes, savoring the moment, the fresh scent of the birch binding me in a cloud of awareness and newfound sensation.”

Food and sex are clearly twin appetites waiting to be released, and in “The Sushi Girl,” by Anika Gupta, they converge in a work setting for the narrator as she balances raw fish on her body. She doesn’t just lie there, though; she engages with her customers, lets them look and taste even as she makes sure her naked body, while still, speaks loudly.

Each of these women are stripped, whether literally, as in Clancy Nacht’s story of the same name, or in some other way that leaves them vulnerable, exposed, open to whoever they’ve let enter their most personal space. Even when they are acting as voyeurs, watching others strip down, as in “Live Action,” by Susan St. Aubin, they are being changed by what they see, by the skin that speaks to them and their fantasies.

For other characters, adorning their bodies—with tattoos in “Ink,” by Jennifer Peters, or the sensual strokes of a paintbrush in “True Colors,” by Louisa Harte—is a way to live a more vibrant, outspoken life, and their reward is a richer sex life than they’d had before. That makes sense, because when we bare all, we invite others to touch, to feel every curve, every bend, every inch of skin.

Ultimately, this is a book about getting to know your body from the outside in, about showing yourself off for a lover and knowing the power the naked body holds. At the gym, in the shower, on the subway, at a tea party, the women in Smooth leave behind their inhibitions and go where many women have only dreamed about. Sexy, playful, sensual and celebratory, these nineteen stories will be sure to entice you as they reveal so much skin.

Rachel Kramer Bussel
New York City

Naked bubble bath book trailer for Fast Girls: Erotica for Women

I had so much fun shooting this video (and will soon have one for Orgasmic)!



Follow along all this month with the virtual book tour.

Order Fast Girls: Erotica for Women from:



Amazon.com



Kindle edition



Bn.com



Borders



Powell's



IndieBound



Cleis Press

Table of Contents

Introduction: Fast Is a (Sexy) State of Mind (see below)

Temptation Kayla Perrin
Waxing Eloquent Donna George Storey
Five-Minute Porn Star Jacqueline Applebee (listen to this story read by Mia on the I Want Your Sex podcast)
Winter, Summer Tristan Taormino
Playing the Market Angela Caperton
Panther Suzanne V. Slate
Communal Saskia Walker
Fireworks Lolita Lopez
Flash! Andrea Dale
Waiting for Beethoven Susie Hara
Confessions of a Kinky Shopaholic Jennifer Peters
Let’s Dance D. L. King
That Girl Cherry Bomb
Oz Isabelle Gray
Married Life Charlotte Stein
Princess Elizabeth Coldwell
Chasing Danger Kristina Wright
Whore Complex Rachel Kramer Bussel
Lessons, Slow and Painful Tess Danesi
Speed Bumps Tenille Brown


Introduction: Fast Is a (Sexy) State of Mind

I like the fast girls best/they do whatever they wanna do. —Sarge, “Fast Girls”

I named this book after a song called “Fast Girls” by an indie pop/rock band called Sarge*. That song is a feisty, punk-rock ode to a hot girl who is captivating in all kinds of ways.

I’m sure you know a girl like that. Or a woman. Or a lady. Or a butch. Or a femme. Or…you get the idea. She’s the kind of babe who takes no prisoners, who owns her life and her sexuality and not only doesn’t apologize for them, makes sure you notice her and what she’s all about.

Two definitions of “fast,” according to Merriam-Webster are “wild” or “sexually promiscuous,” and while that is the seed of what I was angling for here, I didn’t just want to read about slut after slut after slut. I wanted to read about women who in some way defy the conventional norms-whatever those are in this day and age. That doesn’t mean being shocking for shock’s sake, but following their passion, seeking out what it is that they need to be truly pleasured.

What I love about these fast girls is that even as they are bold, daring and dynamic, they have a thing or two to learn about sex and themselves.

Consider Susie Hara’s fifty-one-year-old protagonist in “Waiting for Beethoven” as she gets it on with a younger man. In current pop culture terms, she’s the cougar, the aggressive older woman seeking her sexy prey. But she is actually nervous and uncertain, as well as aroused. “And now there was no point in telling him she wasn’t going to come when she could already feel a wave of pleasure rolling inside her, kind of a pre-coming feeling, but different than usual; she couldn’t really tell what was her clit and what were the walls inside her and what was contracting and what was releasing and then she realized she must be coming because her body had taken over and been taken over in this luscious finger symphony so she just gave in,” writes Hara, in a description of female orgasm that I think will be familiar to many.

In this book, fast is as much a state of mind as a state of motion. It’s not about trying to slut it up to impress anyone, but about finding what works for you. I was intrigued to find that playing with prostitution, or whoring, came up as a theme in many submissions, as did threesomes with one woman and two men. It makes sense that fast would be associated with women who mix cash and sex, as happens in Angela Caperton’s “Playing the Market,” where the new economy mixes with the world’s oldest profession. In my “Whore Complex,” whoredom is more a state of mind, a go-to fantasy that leaps from the bounds of dirty talk to real life with some unusual consequences. There’s also exhibitionism, such as in Jacqueline Applebee’s “Five-Minute Porn Star,” and submission--there’s a lot of very hot female submission and BDSM play in this book.

These girls are fast when they want to be…and slow at other times. They want to crack their lovers’ secret codes, find out what makes them tick, as happens in Charlotte Stein’s “Married Life.” I like this story because the wife is not just passively accepting her humdrum sex life, but she doesn’t want to have an affair or get a divorce. She wants her husband, the man she loves, but she wants him openly, honestly, freely and when they both give a little of themselves and bravely bare their souls, they find true happiness.

These girls don’t give it up for just anyone. Even the ones who get around have a reason for choosing their lovers, and it’s those reasons, those images, that resonate with me. Here’s Tristan Taormino in “Winter, Summer,” rhapsodizing about the woman she’s about to seduce (or perhaps, who’s about to seduce her is more accurate):

She’s the boy I have dreamed about and jerked off to too many times to count. The one who won’t leave my fantasies, who cruises me in my bedroom, who seduced me months ago in another lifetime with her voice, who plays pool and drinks beer, who grabs my ass in crowded bars just to fuck with my boundaries and catch me off guard, who makes my brain get wet and my pussy explode.

Exactly. Though there are women on the prowl here, women who go after younger men, women who pounce, women who pursue, there are others who are excited about being the object of another’s affection, lust and desire. For them, being fast means courting the man or woman (or more than one person) they are searching for.

These fast girls speak to me on many levels. I admire them, respect them, marvel at them, raise my eyebrows at them, want them. But most of all, I’m excited that they’ve broken free of whatever messages we all receive about how a woman is “supposed” to act and instead they are bent on acting however they damn well please. And that’s my personal definition of a fast, not to mention foxy, girl.

Rachel Kramer Bussel
New York City

* To hear more of Sarge, click here