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Serving Him pays homage to the irresistible men who control their partners with a glance, a pair of handcuffs, or a firm smack on the bottom. As true tops, the bossy hunks in these stories understand that erotic BDSM is about exulting in power that is freely yielded. Editor Rachel Kramer Bussel and her coterie of contributors cover the full range of kinky play, from spanking and bondage to public sex and power exchange. In this racy anthology, Bussel has hand-picked a broad range of stories that explore erotic power play in full tantalising detail.
Rachel Kramer Bussel edits the Sex Diaries for New York Magazine and hosts SRO readings around the country. Rachel formerly wrote the "Lusty Lady" sex column for The Village Voice and was the longtime senior editor of Penthouse Variations. She has edited the Best Sex Writing series since 2008. She is a prolific erotica editor, and her titles include Spanked, He’s on Top, She’s on Top, Passion, and Do Not Disturb. Visit her at rachelkramerbussel.com
Table of Contents
Introduction: Lucky Naughty Girls
What You Deserve Lori Selke
Coffee Break Kristina Wright
Chattel Errica Liekos
Under Direction Teresa Noelle Roberts
The Letter Tiffany Reisz
Run, Baby, Run Vida Bailey
Tackling Jessica Maxine Marsh
Safe, Sane and Consensual Ariel Graham
The Golden Ruler Giselle Renarde
I Always Do Kiki DeLovely
Pinky Kissa Starling
The Breaking Point Cole Riley
Shining in the Dark Bex vanKoot
Room #3 Emily Bingham
Duo J. Sinclaire
Breath Mollena Williams
Silver Fish in the Crystal Pool Gina Marie
The Secret of Time Travel Jacqueline Applebee
Bared Gray Miller
In His Control Jade Melisande
Paper Doll joy
Subbing Rachel Kramer Bussel
From the introduction by Rachel Kramer Bussel "There are plenty of surprises in store in this book, and whether you're a novice or a seasoned BDSM player, I hope you'll enjoy the exchanges to be found hereof dirty talk, power, roles, toys, games. These characters test each other, pushing boundaries from both sides of the top/bottom equation. Often it's the women who push their men to push them, to stop being polite and start holding them down, making them open wide, forcing them to relinquish a kind of power they are eager to let go off. Many of the stories here are as intense as the acts described; I see them as tender, but they likely to take your breath away, make you tremble or quiver, make you just a little bit afraid. That edge of awe and fear, of want and need, of excitement and surrender, is just where I hope these stories keep you. You don't have to be a naughty girl (or boy), in real life or in your dreams, to enjoy the 23 hot stories in this book, but I have a feeling that they will bring out your inner naughtiness, whatever form that takes. I feel lucky to get to share them with you."
From "What You Deserve," by Lori Selke "He left me a voicemail message the morning of our date. Tonight, my dear Deirdre,” he rumbled into the phone, You’re going to get what you deserve.” He added a few detailsa time for me to appear at his apartment, instructions to let myself in and read the note he will leave me on the dining room table, which will provide further guidance. Jake and I had been dating long enough for me to not only have the key to his apartment but a small dresser drawer dedicated to my personal effects in his bedroom. We were an item. We only had eyes for each other. Our friends laughed admiringly at our continued chemistry. If they only knew. I wasn’t Jake’s full-time submissive. Neither of us were interested in that. But when we were together, the energy was undeniable. I wanted to please him, and he loved to put me though my paces. We’d figured out our mutual kinkiness early on and indulged it every chance we got. I’d worn a play collar for him once or twiceokay, a couple dozen times. He had toys he’d bought just to use them on me. A little trust game like this one was par for the course for us. Something not too heavy, but not entirely frivolous. Serious fun. It was a journey we’d embarked upon together after one too many nights entangled together, whispering our sexual secrets to each other in the dark. Somehow it was always easier for me if I couldn’t see his face when I made my true confessions. He had noticed how turned on I got when he pulled my hair, yes he had. When he slapped my ass once or twice, or held my head down on his delectable cock. He liked to watch me blush when he trailed his fingers along my jawline. The rest felt as inevitable as gravity. If I was ever supposed to be ashamed of my submissive desires for Jake, then I must have cut that class in school. I rushed home after work and quickly showered and changed my clothes. Jake’s voicemail hadn’t left any specific instructions as to my attire. So I dressed for myself. I put on a casual dress with a black crossover top and a pretty black and white graphic print skirtit always made me feel like an old-time pre-Technicolor movie star. Black bra, black panties, bare legs, men’s-loafer-inspired pumps. Kind of like what I’d wear to the office, only a little bit funkier. Jake worked in customer support. He liked it partly because nobody ever saw his faceor his shoulder-length hair, or the tribal tattoos on his forearms, plus the one on the web between his left thumb and forefinger. He’d had a dissolute younger life that he’d only begun to divulge to me, but he reined it in when he started to go gray at the temples. Suddenly health insurance became a priority, too, and the debauchery could wait for the weekend. Or nights when I slept over. Whatever worked. I let myself into his apartment as instructed. And also as instructed, there was a note on his little two-person dining table, which was bare except for a slim little dog collar I was so very intimately acquainted with already, as well as a blindfold, one of those ruffled satin sleep mask styles. This one was pink. The note simply said, Put these on.” So that’s what I did. First the collar, then the blindfold. Then I carefully perched on the edge of the dinette chair and waited. He must have been waiting down the hall, perhaps in his bedroom; I heard his footfall on the carpet. He’d taken his shoes off. I straightened my back, hands in my lap, already squirming with anticipation. But instead of touching me or hearing his coarse whisper close to my ear, I heard the clanking of pots in the kitchen, then the gentle chink of china on the table next to me. The first words he spoke to me were, Open your mouth.” So I did. He slipped something inside it, to sit on my tongue. Taste it,” he said. It was salty and tangy and sweet and creamy and chewy. Eventually the sensations sorted themselves out. Half a fig, stuffed with goat cheese and sprinkled with thyme and honey, he told me as I chewed. He gave me another. I licked leftover honey off his fingers. He continued to feed me by handslivers of lemony roast chicken, slices of cheese, cubes of bread, olives, room-temperature cherry tomatoes that popped in my mouth. I tried not to giggle or bite the tips of his fingers, but it was hard. It was hard to hold still and let myself be fed. But when I got too fidgety, he just said, If I have to, I’ll tie your hands behind your back.” I stopped fidgeting. Slow down,” he said again after a few more bites. Savor it. We’ve got all night. Don’t worry, I guarantee you’re going to get what you deserve.”"