Today marks the official release date of Spank!, a brand-new, rosy-bottomed anthology edited by the Queen of Spankings, D.L. King. So there’s no need to wriggle and bite your fingernails as you wait for your just desserts. You can buy it on Amazon or the Logical-Lust website before you can say “Please, sir, may I have another.” The list of authors alone will make your derriere warm; each one writes erotic power-play with a masterful hand, and I’m honored to be included in the line-up.
While I have you gathered here today on this auspicious occasion (please help yourself to champagne and goat cheese tartlets) I wanted to say a few words about spanking and the background behind my story, “Anthropology.”
Like any expression of sensual pleasure, say a kiss, for example, the delights of erotic spanking come in many flavors and levels of intensity. Some make it a lifestyle, some only dabble. My story is about a woman who explores the intoxicating power play of spanking for the first time—initially as a voyeur (or should I say auditeur?) and then as a willing participant.
Since I’ve recently been on a kick of telling the “truth” about my stories, I will admit that spanking is on my menu of erotic delicacies, as you might guess from this photo of me that looks suspiciously like the cover of Spank! (although that girl and I clearly attend different convent schools). But I’m not into spankings that hurt. My particular preference lies in skirting the edge between pleasure and pain and challenging my psychological limits rather than physical ones. I was never spanked as a child, and yet like most of us in our culture, my subconscious responds erotically to the idea of being “punished” for sexual desire and daring. This is the scenario I explore in “Anthropology,” which is, of course, the study of man--and woman.
I also wanted to reveal to the curious another important inspiration for this story--the erotica writer’s salon given by the book’s esteemed editor in October 2008, which I had the pleasure to attend as well as snap a few photos of the most interesting sights. I knew one day I would have to use the very titillating material I collected at this gathering. How fitting that it made its way into this book! Names and details were changed to protect the guilty, naturally.
And now, without further ado (another glass of Veuve Cliquot?) my sampling from a very exciting anthology that goes on sale today! Buy it now or you won’t get your spanking….
I was about to toss my coat on the bed with the others, but Penelope’s Chinese silk jacket wrinkled easily, and she suggested I hang mine up as well. As she reached for the door of the freestanding closet by the bed, I marveled at her anthropologist’s boldness. Opening a stranger’s closet without permission was definitely courting danger. Who knew what secrets lurked within?
But even I never expected the vision that greeted us as the door swung open.
“Wow,” Penelope breathed.
My jaw dropped.
For Natasha’s cabinet was indeed bursting with secrets. Or perhaps the better word would be “implements.” Two black leather paddles. A bouquet of riding crops. A square wooden board with a handle that looked like a pizza peel. An enema bag. Fur handcuffs. An assortment of leather straps, masks, and studded collars.
“Oh, you’ve found my toy closet,” our hostess said from the doorway.
I jumped guiltily.
In contrast, Natasha’s smile was so innocent, we might have stumbled on her childhood collection of Barbie’s.
Then I noticed Andy standing behind her, his leather jacket draped over his arm. He, too, smiled benignly at the array of sexual playthings. Cultural relativism—surely the best defense in any awkward social situation.
I’d apparently mistaken Penelope’s response for my own dismay, because she immediately launched into a nostalgic tale about the sexual predilections of a former boyfriend. He liked to give her enemas and was especially intrigued by how her abdomen got all swollen from the fluid. He’d rub his hands all over her belly, pressing lightly to make her squirm.
Afterwards, he always wanted anal sex.
Natasha nodded. “The two often go together.”
“I’ve never been spanked, though,” Penelope added.
“Would you like to be?” Natasha asked.
Penelope thought for a moment. “Why not?”
Natasha smiled. “That can be arranged.”
My own belly contracted in sympathy, fear mixed with a decidedly sexual tingle of the taboo. I was half-expecting the spanking to occur on the spot, which presented a dilemma. Should I stay and watch or run screaming back to Jane Austen?
Instead, Natasha and Penelope began to discuss their statistics class, while Andy pulled me away to meet a friend. I’d almost convinced myself the whole thing was a dream until half an hour later, when I spied Natasha leading Penelope back into the bedroom.
