The erotica anthology, like all erotica, has suffered in this last decade. Endless, endless free uploads to Amazon, some good, most not, have taken the financial profit out of not only novels but story collections. The major publishers are cutting back, replaced by independents, both small publishers and even ambitious individuals. Like erotica in general, they have become a labor of love (or lust) more than a source of serious income. I would say “for better or worse,” but really, it’s just worse. But that makes the independents all the more heroic—tilting at windmills; getting what they find not only arousing but well written out into the world.
Jay Willowbay has not only written excellent erotica, usually of a female-dominated nature, but wrote one of the most enthusiastic and eloquent reviews of my novel Blue for the sadly now-defunct BDSM Book Reviews. I liked it so much I quoted it on the cover of the paperback version, so when he announced he was gathering fem-dom submissions for his own anthology, I of course jumped at the chance.
Readers of my work might discern that I’m pretty much a 70% female sub/30% fem-dom kind of writer (and reader, and fantasizer). This is my second published fem-dom story, but this one is different: the narrator is not a participant, he is an eavesdropper, and aural voyeur. He cannot participate; he can only listen. And that makes it all the more intense, doesn’t it, for those of you who have experienced this? Thin apartment walls, horny neighbors.
Here’s a sample of my story:
“You’re late,” I distinctly heard, through the wall, through the fog of a dream (something about endless cubicles in some vast office somewhere), and I was instantly awake. My heart was already pounding, in fact.
They were at it again. It had been a while.
I heard the rounded, muffled syllables of his reply, which might have been: “I’m so sorry, Mistress.” He was farther from our mutual wall than she was, and harder to understand.
“On your knees.”
Yessss. They were at it again.
The walls in this apartment building—in the entire complex—have always been thin. I lived in another, larger apartment here for two years, and always heard the couple next door arguing, and maybe half-heartedly fucking. You learn to tune it out. But now, in my downsized studio, I occasionally hear…this. And I have waited weeks for it.
There is no schedule to their meetings, that I can discern. If there is one, it is far too complex to understand, and whether it is he who initiates their sessions or she who summons him, I have no idea. But I do know it’s been longer than usual.
“Undress,” she said. “Remove all layers.”
Lying on my back, I realized my cock was hard as steel, its tip extending my boxers up like a ridiculous tent pole. I admitted defeat and slid them off—my only layer.
Ah, good fun. The anthology features stories from twenty-one authors including Mr. Willowbay himself, many by actual dominatrices whose written work I am not familiar with but whose perspectives i am dying to read.
The book is available in ebook or paperback; click here to buy it!