Twisted: Bondage With an Edge

Twisted: Bondage With an Edge

by Alison Tyler (Editor)

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Overview

"Be as kinky as you want to be," advises Alison Tyler in a commanding new collection that proves that bondage can bring a partner closer to their object of desire, both literally and figuratively. Whether by rope or silk scarf or cuffs, the bonds grow even tighter as readers surrender to the pleasures of BDSM. Twisted is a collection of kink and bondage tales curated by editrix extraordinaire Tyler, who has cornered the market in bondage erotica. She adds "I've been a bondage fanatic since I first understood that the word 'obey' could be used in a bedroom. That on my knees on a hardwood floor could be sexier than sprawled in a bed of silken, leopard-print sheets. That a velvet blindfold over my eyes or cold steel cuffs on my wrists could make my heart pitter-patter faster than a bouquet of scarlet roses or a glittery piece of jewelry." This sentiment is echoed in the author's tales in Twisted as well. These stories delve deep down into what bondage means, and prepare readers to bind down or behave.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781627780087
Publisher: Start Publishing LLC
Publication date: 02/18/2014
Pages: 244
Sales rank: 1,027,349
Product dimensions: 8.30(w) x 9.70(h) x 0.30(d)

About the Author

Alison Tyler is a prolific author of erotic fiction and is the editor of Three-Way, Heat Wave, Best Bondage Erotica, Love at First Sting, and Naughty or Nice. Called a "literary siren" by Good Vibrations, she is the author of over 25 explicit novels. Her books have been translated into Japanese, Dutch, German, Italian, Norwegian, Greek, and Spanish. She lives in San Francisco.

Read an Excerpt

United Kingdom had experienced one of the worst summers on record. The Met Office issued regular severe weather warnings and countless towns were flooded. You could barely turn on the TV without seeing images of streets transformed into cheap Venetian canals, half-submerged cars and traffic lights rising from murky waters. Root crops rotted in the fields, train services were canceled, landslips closed roads and hailstones the size of golf balls were said to have fallen in the Midlands. Everyone was blathering about that book, Fifty Shades, and the media made jokes about how wet the summer was, how gray. The sky was never blue; it was black and blue, storm clouds amassing in the distance whenever the sun tried to shine.
On days when the rain stopped, people glanced skyward with hopeful hearts, picturing barbecues at the weekend, a spot of gardening, maybe a walk across the Downs or a bike ride. But invariably, the world would darken and another deluge would descend.
Experts blamed the jet stream, but I could see it was actually my fault. I was creating chaos with my climaxes.
I’d started to suspect a connection, however, the notion seemed too crazy to divulge. But when my orgasm prompted a downpour fierce enough to activate a car alarm, Ray gave me a look suggesting he shared my concerns. “Okay, that’s enough,” he said. “We need to hold it right there.”
For an awful moment, I thought he was dumping me. Then he explained what he meant, and I wondered if I should dump him.
“No orgasms?” I said. “None at all?” “None.” “Not even a small one when no one’s watching?” “God’s watching,” said Ray. “God’s got better things to do than that,” I replied.
Ray grinned and sat astride me, his cock angling up from his patch of straw-gold hair even though he’d only recently shot his load. I have to say, he wasn’t my usual type. Tall and slender, he resembled Jesus, probably more so than Jesus did, although he had a neater beard and shorter hair. His eyes were deep brown, kind and dopey like a spaniel’s, but he wasn’t kind or dopey in bed. He liked to top, but his was a very geeky style of topping involving ropes, cuffs, vibes, new toys and tricks. He enjoyed the rigmarole, the complexities, and he liked to plot, making me feel I was a subject in a series of deeply unethical, scien- tific experiments. In his day-to-day life, he was a PhD student researching estuarine sedimentation and sea-level trends. Some- times, I liked to pretend he was doing a PhD on me.
“Then quit for your country,” he said. He took my wrists and lightly pinned my arms to the pillows above my head.
I laughed. “I’m not that patriotic, Ray.”
“Okay then,” he said. “Do it for me. Give me that amazing, precious part of you. Give me...give me the power of your orgasms. Let me be the one who tells you when you can and can’t come.”
“Hmm. It’s a big ask.” Ray shrugged. “Wouldn’t be worth doing otherwise.” I mulled it over. “Supposing I come accidentally? Say, when
we’re having sex and you’re not concentrating and whoops, there I go.”
“I won’t let that happen.”
“Well, supposing I come accidentally when you’re not there? You know, say, I fall on my vibrator or something?”
“You won’t let that happen.” Ray’s puppy-dog eyes were twinkling with excitement. I could practically hear the cogs of his brain whirring as he began contemplating the implications of his suggestion.
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“I could lie to you,” I said. “I could pretend I was obeying but in reality—”
“But I’d know,” said Ray. “It would start raining.” “Gah!” I said. “There’s no escape for me, is there?” “Not much.” I sighed, defeated. “Still not convinced. Anyway, supposing
it doesn’t work and it keeps raining?” Ray shrugged. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.” We fell silent for a while. Outside the torrential downpour
continued although the car alarm had stopped. That I had the power to improve the nation’s weather was both a wonderful gift and an unwelcome responsibility. If only the gift were slightly different and involved, for example, not quitting orgasms but eating huge amounts of ice cream.
“Let’s give it a whirl,” said Ray. “Think how sexy it is. It’s not just about the weather. It’s about you making a sacri- fice for me. And me having control over you and you wanting me to have control. Like this.” He gave an emphatic shove, pressing my arms hard into the pillows. “And this.” He placed one hand on top of the other, pinning my wrists with one grip, then reached behind himself to feel me between my thighs. He skimmed my clit. I was still sensitive from coming and I squealed, wriggling my hips beneath his weight. A burst of squally rain hurled itself at the window, as noisy as a handful of gravel being flung.
“I can make you do things any day of the week,” Ray continued. He took both my hands, rested the left under his balls at an awkward angle, the right around his shaft. I did what was expected of me. His length twitched and flexed in my fist. “I can cuff you and torment you,” Ray went on. “Force you because you like it. But just think. I’m not forcing you here. I’m asking you. No orgasms. And you agree and you stick with it.”
He gave me a sly smile. “Because promises are stronger than leather.”
I didn’t reply. His cock was fully hard now. I kept working him with my hand, gazing down my torso at his flushed tip. Ray closed his eyes and groaned heavily. I wondered how he’d feel if I stopped. I didn’t of course. I speeded up. He came on my stomach and tits, striping my skin with jizz. I was happy for him, as one is at the sight and sound of a lover’s climax. I also felt a fleeting tug of jealousy. When would it be my turn again?
Horny doesn’t even begin to cover it. Within a week I was prac- tically clawing the walls, except the walls were the inside of my body. I ached to get outside of myself, to fly away via a dizzying, transcendent, cunt-clenching crisis.
It might have been bearable if Ray hadn’t been such a goddamn tease. A change to our regular dates to accommodate my abstinence would have been fine; say, a few quiet nights in front of the telly, maybe meeting up with friends, going bowling or whatever. But oh, no. This was a man who got off on making me suffer. I should have seen it coming. Or rather, not.
The worst of it was, the weather held. Day after day, the sun beat down, ostensible proof that our experiment was working. In parks and gardens, flowers lifted their rain-battered heads. In town, people sat outside bars and cafes, gazing at the light, as stunned as newly emerged moles. The habit of glancing nervously at the sky was hard to break but gradually people started to seem happier and more relaxed, less sallow and hunched. Summer’s here! proclaimed the headlines.
By week two, I was praying for rain so we could call the whole thing off. The heat caressed my skin. The sight of people in skimpy clothes was torture. The country stayed dry while my cunt was as wet as a rain cloud. Please tip it down, I thought.
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But the sky remained flawlessly blue. As an additional cruelty, Ray started to tan. He’d been handsome enough when I’d met him, but the heat baked him golden, turning him into a bronzed, lanky, bewhiskered Adonis. I wanted him so badly. All of him.
He wasn’t withholding himself from me; that was the killer. He would even fuck me and take me to the verge of climax, but he’d never allow me to get off. My feverish lust was never calmed. I became an unadulterated horndog, sexually obsessed and full of pent-up energy.
One evening in week three, we were seated on Ray’s stone balcony, drinking ice-cold bottled beer and looking out over treetops, rooftops and tiny trains moving in and out of the distant station. The early evening sky was sliced with vapor trails, the horizon turning pink in the west. I was gripped with the need to climax. I wanted to jump Ray, strip him naked, ride his cock and come in a lunatic mess of slipperiness and screaming. At the very least, I wanted to maul and kiss him but I knew I had to resist. Molesting him would only culminate in exquisite agony with Ray once again taking me to the edge of orgasm then denying me my release. The obsession was addic- tive but it was a curious kind of addiction, one in which rather than give in to the thing I craved, I had to fight the longing for gratification, knowing my desire wouldn’t be gratified and the urge would be worsened.
“People are saying the gardens need watering,” I ventured.
“People are never satisfied,” replied Ray. “Too much rain, they moan. Too much sun, they moan.”
Jeez, even his voice made me horny. Well, everything made me horny. I’d listened to my neighbors fucking two nights previ- ously and it had taken an enormous amount of willpower not to go and knock on their door and ask if I could have a ride. But sex-noises would have turned me on regardless. What was
new was the hypersensitivity of my cunt. Showering and sitting in certain chairs became an erotic experience. New too was the way my body charged up at a whiff of aftershave in the street; at the sight of a woman uncrossing her legs or two sparrows splashing in a water bath; at the squelchy noise from a bottle of fabric conditioner being emptied by a man in the launderette; at the terrible painting of a conch shell in the dentist’s waiting room resembling the pink frills of labia unfurling.
I was permanently aroused. I was a bitch in heat. I was desperately, tear-prickingly randy.
One muggy afternoon, I’d begged, “Please! Please let me!” as Ray had taken me to the brink with his fingers and some clit gel he’d bought. The gel warmed and tenderized me; its soft, tingling heat radiating into my groin, drawing sensation deeper. Ray held me there. The room darkened as the sun disap- peared behind a cloud. My thighs were starting to quiver. I was moments away. I thought he was finally going to let me go, and the heavens would open. I was on the edge of relief, about to bring an end to the oppressive humidity. But Ray pulled back. I could feel his breath still warm on my folds. He pushed a finger inside me, gave me a hard, fast stroke then withdrew. He flicked my clit. Beneath his finger, I was a fat, slippery bead. I bucked, searching for him.
“Please,” I wailed. “Don’t let me down,” he said. He kissed my swollen clit. Oh, dear god. Every nerve trembled beneath the touch of his
lips. “Please.” “You know you don’t mean that.” He licked me once, twice,
teasing me with his careful tongue. I swear I could feel the bumps of his taste buds on my taut, raw clit.
“Ray, I can’t stand it. Please let me come.” He laughed softly. For a few moments, he said nothing. He
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blew a stream of cool air on my flesh. “How’s the gel?” he asked. “It’s made my mouth go a bit weird.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Good. Fading a bit now.” Soft light filled the room as the clouds dissipated. “Well, then,” said Ray. “I’d better apply some more, hadn’t
I?”
And so it went on with Ray taking me to the threshold of ecstasy before pulling back only to take me there again. I imag- ined the rain clouds high in the sky, weighted with wetness and not knowing if they were coming or going. I felt sorry for them because, unlike me, they presumably weren’t getting much enjoyment from this.

Table of Contents

Contents
vii Introduction: Gimme a Kink
1 Tie Me Up • Andrea Dale
2 Foundation Stone • Jax Baynard
9 Love to Hate • Molly Moore
13 Dry Spell • Kristina Lloyd
25 The Customer’s Waiting • Giselle Renarde
37 Bound by Sight • J. Sinclaire 49 A Keeper • Sommer Marsden
60 Bondage Blogging • Meadow Parker
75 The Saturday Pet • N. T. Morley
85 Wilderness Test • Veronica Wilde
98 Be There with Bells On • Joan Defers
102 Demica • Tahira Iqbal
114 Jacob’s Note • Derek McDaniel
122 Any Lightness Between Black and White • 129 Stag Beetle • Sacchi Green
133 Hands Down • Rachel Kramer Bussel
143 Sylvia’s Transgression • Tamsin Flowers
152 Body Temperature • Thomas S. Roche
161 Camwhore • Auburn Sanders
170 Twisted Realities • Kiki DeLovely
179 Rope Drought • Teresa Noelle Roberts
187 Justice • Sadey Quinn
191 Darkness and Light • Sophia Valenti
201 Broken • Alison Tyler
215 Tie Me Down • Dan Grogan

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