Newseater - Adult Edition

Welcome back to the Fleshbot Book Club-your chance to get a sneak peek at some of the hottest erotic literature out now. Today’s selection comes from Cleis Press’s In Sleeping Beauty’s Bed: Erotic Fairy Tales, by Mitzi Szerteo.

The following excerpt is from “Cinderella.”

Attired in all the magical finery her fairy god- mother had bestowed upon her, Cinderella was escorted to the palace for her wedding to the Prince, who found her even lovelier than she had been in memory. Upon seeing bothof the exquisitely heeled glass slippers on her dainty feet, he gathered her teetering form into his arms and carried her up the stairs to their matrimonial bedchamber, which had been thoughtfully prepared for this special moment with candles and perfumed sheets and a lute player strumming and singing in an antechamber. Making haste to draw the bolt on the door securely behind them, the Prince placed his beautiful bride with marked gentleness upon the satin-covered bed, where she lay flushed and trembling. Thanks to the parsnips procured from her father’s garden, Cinderella had some small knowledge of the matters that transpired between a man and a woman. Furthermore, she frequently overheard her parsnip-collecting stepsisters discussing the subject with a markedly unwholesome relish, and she closed her eyes in happy anticipation of the loving lips that would soon be covering her own.

Rather than presenting his Princess with a tender kiss, however, the bridegroom, who had by now grown quite feverish with desire, plucked the glass slippers from Cinderella’s tiny feet, chafing the flesh of her heels in his impatience to remove them. Ripping the laces from the perilously straining front of his specially embroidered wedding breeches, the Prince plunged the bulky protuberance he had released into the right slipper, babbling incoherent words of love as he drove it back and forth across the foot-heated instep. Paying no mind to the damage inflicted upon his hands from the dagger-sharp heel, he performed the same ceremony with the left, his hips charging faster and faster, as did the purple-crowned object jutting out from his unfastened breeches. By the time he finished, frothing lakes of equal depth and stickiness filled the glass of each slipper.

And the Prince and Princess lived happily ever after. Especially the Prince, who had at long last located the missing mate for the dainty little spikeheeled slipper that had fallen from a dainty little foot. For now that he was in possession of both, he vowed to fill them with his love each and every day.

Excerpted from In Sleeping Beauty’s Bed: Erotic Fairy Tales written by Mitzi Szerteo and published by Cleis Press.

The book is also on sale at Amazon.

Copyright (c) 2009 by Cleis Press.

If you’re an author or a book publicist and you want to participate in the Fleshbot Book Club, send email to Lux Alptraum.

Original post by Lux Alptraum

So you’ve finally discovered that your phone is more than just a device for making calls and playing Flight Navigator—that it can actually be used to enhance your sex life through a nifty little thing called “sexting.”

Well, congratulations (and welcome to the 21st century). But don’t be fooled: sexting may seem easy, but it’s actually a complicated dance of dirty words, innuendo, and, of course, hilariously unintentional misspellings (this is text messaging we’re talking about). But with a little help, you’ll be on your way to sexting like a pro. Read on and learn.

Sexting for Foreplay vs. Sexting as a Main Course. One of the first things to decide is whether your amorous texts are intended as the lead in to something in the flesh, or if they’re intended as an end unto themselves. It may seem like a trivial distinction, but it’s actually a key point to determining your sexting style.

If you’re sexting for foreplay. The key here is to keep it light, and focus on the teasing—remember, you’re trying to build excitement for what’s to come, not blow your load on the spot. “I’m so hot for you,” “I can’t believe how wet my pussy is,” flirty pictures, and the like are all ideal. Getting into too much detail, however, is not. Sure, you may be planning on covering your lover in peanut butter and licking it off of his or her body, then dousing their body in chocolate sauce and making sweet, sweet, messy love—but laying that all out on the front line builds up an expectation that may not be fulfilled (that, and typing all that out will make your thumbs prematurely tired).

If you’re sexting as an end unto itself. In this situation, sexting becomes like phone sex or cybersex (but with texts!): it’s intended as a simulation of the sexual act itself. Since you don’t have to save your energy for anything else, feel free to go all out—but again, try not to blow your load all at once. The best sexual experiences build slowly: start with teasing, and when you’re both good and ready, then you can whip out the chocolate and peanut butter covered sexing (if, you know, that’s what you’re into).

Text vs. Pictures. It’s also important to decide whether your sexts are going to be primarily pictures, primarily text, or a mixture of both. Each medium has its strengths (and weaknesses)—it’s up to you to decide which works best for your purposes.

Text sex. The merits of text are pretty obvious: it’s oh so easy to say what you want (even if it’s a little annoying to type it all out on a tiny keyboard). Text allows you the freedom to let your imagination run wild, and explore your wildest fantasies (in 160 characters or less, of course).

· Make it personal. As with all tech (and sex) experiences, customization is key. A generic message will only get you so far; if you manage to slip in an added, personalized detail, it’s that much hotter.

· For the love of god, spell correctly. You’re not fifteen (and if you are, close this window and go study for your chemistry exam). While some abbreviations may be necessary (especially in a detailed fantasy), the less you use, the better. “I wnt u 2 suk my cok” just isn’t as hot. (Arousal-induced typos, on the other hand, are acceptable—and, for that matter, to be expected.)

· No emoticons. You can maybe get away with a sly , but beyond that, there’s no such thing as a sexy emoticon.

Pictures. A picture is worth a thousand words, right? Photos may not allow you the same level of directness, but they do offer an added level of, ahem, stimulation. If you’ve decided to illustrate your sexts, here are a few things to keep in mind.

· To anonymize or no? If you’re sending out sexy pictures of yourself, it’s best to assume that they will one day be released to the public. Even if they’re being sent to the most trusted of trusted partners, there’s still the chance that you, yourself, will fuck up and manage to leak them. So if you care at all about protecting your identity, it’s probably best to crop out your face (not that that’s foolproof—just ask Rihanna). However, a faceless body shot is, of course, less alluring than one that hasn’t been decapitated—so if you’re ready to throw caution to the wind, include your face, reputation be damned.

· Hit them with your best shot. Chances are, you’re taking these pictures by yourself, with a cell phone camera, so they’re not going to be the best quality ever. However, that’s no reason to just send whatever your camera manages to snap. A bad picture can ruin the mood—so pay attention to angles, lighting, and be sure to screen before you hit send.

· A word on up close genital shots. Genitals are wonderful, magical sources of pleasure, and they are, of course, beautiful in their own way. However, up close shots of genitals are not always the more aesthetically pleasing things, and should not be sent right out the gate—in fact, in many cases, should not be sent unless your partner specifically asks for them. (This goes doubly for the men: please don’t assume that the ladies are itching to see a picture of your cock—unless, of course, they ask for it.)

Pictures with text. Most providers will allow you to append a text message along with your picture—this is obviously the best of both worlds. If you go this route, feel free to get creative. “I want you to lick me here” combined with a picture of your nipples? Extra arousing.

· Thumbnail star: Tori Black (toriblack.com)

Original post by Lux Alptraum

Welcome back to the Fleshbot Book Club-your chance to get a sneak peek at some of the hottest erotic literature out now. Today’s selection comes from Amorous Woman, an erotic novel by Donna George Storey.

Amorous Woman is the tale of an American’s sensual affair with all things Japanese, published by Neon/Orion Books. View the trailer, a celebration of traditional erotic prints on YouTube.

Naomi smiled, her gaze lingering on my lips. “Have you ever kissed a woman before, Meg?”

I met her eyes. “No, never.”

Her amber eyes flickered. She knew I was lying. And she liked me for it.

She closed her eyes and bent toward me. I knew what would come. The soft meeting of lips, the unhurried dance of tongues, the moment that stretched into forever. I was so used to Kimura’s tobacco-spiked kisses, Naomi’s tasted sweet, like overripe fruit with a touch of mint. She lay down beside me. We turned to each other and kissed again, our fuzzy robes pressed together.
My pulse was racing. This kissing part was easier this time, but I still didn’t know the rules. Could I do anything I wanted now-anything at all? In a rush of daring, I slipped my hand under her collar and curled my fingers around her satin-covered breast. It was warm and springy, like a cushion. My palm prickled.

She made a low, humming noise.

Deep inside my belly, my body hummed in reply. But my mind wasn’t so sure. Did she really like it? Or was it all an act?

As if in reply, Naomi pulled away from the kiss. She flashed me another knowing smile as she rose up on one elbow and pulled open the belt of my robe.

Without really meaning to, I glanced over at Kimura, sitting in the armchair by the window, cigarette in his hand. His eyes were fixed on us-as one might expect of a man in a hotel room with two women making out on the bed beside him—but his expression surprised me. Behind the glint of lust was a hint of anxious concern, even sadness. I wasn’t sure what he was feeling, but I did know I couldn’t go on with those wistful eyes watching my every move.

“Kazu,” I said. “Come here.”

Obediently he stood and walked over to the bed.

“I want you to be with me, too. Or is that too selfish?”

He shook his head and smiled.

While Kimura quickly peeled off his clothes, Naomi undressed me and pulled her own robe over her shoulders. Kimura crawled into bed on my other side. Instinctively I turned to face Naomi and pressed my back against him, forming a barrier between them with my body.

“You are selfish,” Naomi whispered, a teasing glint in her eye, but she didn’t seem to mind having the front of me all to herself.

She brushed my erect nipple with her finger. I shivered. Her tongue flicked over her lips and she scooted down to follow up with a kiss. Then Kimura began kissing my neck, his hard-on bobbing against my ass. His hand circled around between my legs to tease my cleft with maddeningly delicate strokes.

Surrounded by bodies, one behind and one in front, it was hard not to compare them. Kimura was a hard, hot wall pushing into me. Naomi, still in her silk teddy, was soft and faintly moist, drawing me toward her. Timidly, I reached out to touch her hair, but it was stiff between my fingers, from mousse or hairspray perhaps? What was she thinking as she fixed her hair for the evening ahead-playing out a lesbian scene with an old client’s girlfriend?

I moved my hand away. Maybe I shouldn’t ask questions. Maybe it was better to lie back and let them do everything, drifting wherever their hands and lips would guide me.

I felt another hand creep between my thighs. Kimura paused mid-stroke, then dutifully pulled away.

“You’re so smooth down here, Meg,” Naomi whispered, brushing my lips with her fingertips. Indeed, Kimura had shaved me earlier that day between our room service breakfast and our morning fuck. Then she took my hand and placed it between my own legs. “I’d love to watch you touch yourself. Show me how you like it.”

Excerpted from Amorous Woman, by Donna George Storey.

The book is also on sale at Amazon.

Copyright (c) 2009 by Donna George Storey.

If you’re an author or a book publicist and you want to participate in the Fleshbot Book Club, send email to Lux Alptraum.

Original post by Lux Alptraum

Welcome back to the Fleshbot Book Club-your chance to get a sneak peek at some of the hottest erotic literature out now. Today’s selection comes from Cleis Press’s Playing with Fire, edited by Alison Tyler.

The following excerpt is from “Hot on the Tin Roof,” by I.K.Velasco.

There was the time when she’d handcuffed herself to the bookshelves at the library, the 58th Street branch. I found her on the fifth floor, medieval history section. I rocked her against the shelves, shaking the whole row as the leather-bound books clapped the linoleum. Both hands were bound. I always wondered how she’d accomplished that by herself.

There was the time at the Met. While the members of the board and the honored sponsors had cocktails and hors d’oeuvres in the main hall, I fucked her in the Asian Art wing. We did it under the watchful eye of the Standing Buddha, fifth century Gupta period. The mottled red limestone matched the flush of her skin.
There was the time when she’d followed me home, and I’d found her on the Queens West. The subway car stayed empty until Canal Street, but her eyes stayed focused on the windows and the whispering doors, looking for those strangers, for the danger. Her hands clutched the bar above, her craving apparent by the stretched, distended muscles of her arms.

There were those times and many others. But this wasn’t the same. There had always been that inky gloom, some blanket of protection in the shadow of night. In the heat of this summer day, there was the luminous glare, the harsh radiation. These are the sources of danger-the light that eats the shadows, exposing reality within. I felt safer in the dark.

I finally looked at her. She looked at me. She was anxious. I could tell from the tightness in the corners of her mouth. Her eyes stayed clear, glassy black lakes. I had delayed enough. She wouldn’t ask again. She didn’t have to.

I undressed and as the cloth released my skin, there was that perilous exposure—that heat touching the fleshy surface and everything inside. I shivered.

I stood in the inch of water, my feet between her legs. She twisted up toward me, her palms on my hips. Her mouth was there, too fast. She was always this way-quick to act, eager to consume. I pulled away, clutched her shoulders, and moved underneath. She hovered, the wave of her hair brushing my chest. There was the harsh sunlight, mercurial incandescence surrounding the glow of her silhouette. I closed my eyes, crushed her mouth. She tasted like dynamite. There was the burn there, the fever of her softness surrounding my length, swallowing me into her.

“Mmm…it’s hot out here,” she said.

I opened my eyes. The haze swam into focus on her wayward smile. Not directed at me. I followed her gaze and watched the stranger wave from the next rooftop.

Excerpted from Playing with Fire an anthology edited by Alison Tyler and published by Cleis Press.

The book is also on sale at Amazon.

Copyright (c) 2009 by Cleis Press.

If you’re an author or a book publicist and you want to participate in the Fleshbot Book Club, send email to Lux Alptraum.

Original post by Lux Alptraum

Welcome back to the Fleshbot Book Club-your chance to get a sneak peek at some of the hottest erotic literature out now. Today’s selection comes from Cleis Press’s Pleasure Bound, edited by Alison Tyler.

The following excerpt is from “Yes, Master,” by Donna George Storey.

After the long, sweaty commute home, I was ready for some serious relaxation. So I’d get one of my dad’s beers from the fridge, go up to my room, strip down to my underwear, and switch on “I Dream of Jeannie” reruns until Mom called me downstairs for dinner. I’d do a little belly dance to the opening credits, then settle back on my bed, the cold beer bottle resting on my chest, to float along with the zany hijinks and comic misunderstandings. After a few swallows of beer, I wasn’t even really paying attention to the story. I was just giving old Major Nelson the eye and wondering what the hell was wrong with him. Didn’t he have a dick? Here he had this beautiful blonde female ready to do whatever he wished, and all he asked her to do was make dinner when he got home from astronaut training.

By the commercial break, I was still staring at the TV, but I was long lost in my own much hotter show about what those two would really do if Major Nelson had a functioning heterosexual libido. It was all pretty filthy. The Master was always in control, of course, and he’d tell her, “No more blinking and nodding, we’re doing this my way.” Then he’d take scissors and snip holes in her costume to expose her nipples and blonde thatch so he could caress her naughty parts as she served him dinner.

Next it was off to the bedroom where he’d make her dance and rub her breasts and finger her pussy right in front of him, while he asked her dirty questions-Is this making you wet, Jeannie? Have you been dreaming of fucking me all day when you were cooped up in your little bottle? And she’d have to say “Yes, Master,” because it was true. Sometimes he’d even make her masturbate with her bottle before he’d give her what she really wanted-his big, heat-seeking missile thrusting inside her. Once they were fucking he’d let her use her powers again to do it in all kinds of kinky genie-only positions. My favorite variation was the “magic carpet” where she’d be impaled on his cock, but levitated with her legs crossed in front of her. With a blink and a nod, she’d twirl round and round on him like a corkscrew until he shot his wad into her with a deep groan. Of course, all the while I was doing everything the Master commanded, too, palming my tits and strumming my clit, then kneeling on my bed, as if I were straddling him, and wiggling my ass like an exotic dancer. I got so hot imagining his smoldering gaze stroking me like a wet tongue, his soft but stern voice urging me on to greater depravities, that I came with a muffled groan of my own, just in time for Mom’s dulcet “Dinner’s ready” floating up from the kitchen.

Yes, Major Nelson—or rather my Major Nelson, the sexually insatiable dom—sure helped me get through a long, hot summer.

It turned out he was a tough act to follow.

Back at school that fall, I found plenty of guys willing to warm my bed in the usual wham-bam college-boy way, but I still dreamed of the Master. I even splurged on a Jeannie costume and wore it to a big frat party the Saturday before Halloween. Every guy I talked to popped a boner at the sight of my veil and pink harem pants-my first taste of genie power. Only one rubbed my bottle just right, though, a guy named Troy, dressed as Captain Kirk. He looked me up and down and drawled, “Is it true you genies have to grant your Master’s command no matter what he asks?”

Excerpted from Pleasure Bound an anthology edited by Alison Tyler and published by Cleis Press.

The book is also on sale at Amazon.

Copyright (c) 2009 by Cleis Press.

If you’re an author or a book publicist and you want to participate in the Fleshbot Book Club, send email to Lux Alptraum.

Original post by Lux Alptraum