Wednesday, May 28, 2014

Who Do I Want To Be Tonight? — Alison Tyler

Last week I was fortunate to welcome Sommer Marsden to CJ's Place. This week Alison Tyler is stopping by to talk about her new release from Cleis Press. I'll keep the intro short. You already know she's fabulous, right?

Although I’ve never had the urge to be on stage—I adore role-playing in the bedroom. (Or at the restaurant. Or in the car.) To this end, I dedicated an entire chapter of my spanking-new guide—Never Say Never—to the genre.

Here’s a peek:

I’ve been a waitress, a nurse, and a bombshell. I’ve been a stripper, a streetwalker, and a dancer at the Crazy Horse. Trust me, I am no actor. I stutter and stammer on stage. Public speaking is my personal hell. But I love role-playing. Why? Because role-playing gives you permission to be anyone you want. And as you might have predicted, I have a wicked imagination. I’m an ace at thinking of new characters to be in the bedroom…and beyond. When I’m not creating ones from scratch, I’m embodying the characters of strangers I’ve seen in my travels.

Happily, you don’t need much to start this sort of game. A fantasy the two of you have shared. A movie scene you’d like to make real. A passage in a book—you only need to be on the same page.

One of the best things about role-playing is the fact that nobody is trapped. You can be one character one night, and someone new the next.

Andrea Dale’s “His Lady's Manservant,” plays with roles in a delicious manner:

Melina tended to be a screamer, and her orgasm solidified our roles: she as the lady of the manor and I as her manservant, the besotted lover kept secret because of class boundaries.

When she rode me (of course she’d take the dominant position), my thoughts truly were for her pleasure. My hands at her breasts, my hips bucking to her rhythm, it wasn’t until she was falling over the edge again and gasping “yes, come for me” that I was finally allowed—that I finally allowed myself—the relief I’d craved.

She didn’t banish me to the servant’s quarters that night, although for the remainder of my roles she stayed in character.

As I loaded our suitcases into the car, I could only think ahead to when we’d reprise our parts…in private.

Cora Zane’s “Bad Kitty” shows that you don’t even need to be human when you’re playing a part.

She watches me unzip my pants, and I recognize that look of majestic indifference. Sasha meows and stretches her sleek body across the unmade bed. Her vinyl-red claws rake the black satin sheets as a proper pussycat is want to do. The little bell on her studded, leather collar is a soft chime marking her every movement. I step to the edge of the bed, hard cock in hand, and in defiance, she lies on her side and flicks her cheetah-print tail at me.

“So that’s how it is, is it?”

She lifts her chin in dismissal.

“Bad kitty.” I slip my finger under the edge of her collar, and pull her toward me, the motion forcing her to her knees.

Annoyance flickers in her emerald eyes.

“You know master wants his cock sucked.”

To soothe her, I stroke her black hair, and reluctantly, she nuzzles her face against my hand. That’s when I press the head of my dick to her lush mouth, smudging her wet, red lipstick.

She bathes my cock with the tip of her tongue then sucks me in deep.

I fuck her mouth for what feels like hours. When I’m close to coming, I tighten my hand in her hair, and Sasha digs her claws into my thighs. Moaning, I explode into her mouth. Good kitty, she licks up every drop. When she finally releases me, I’m shaking and weak—and she’s grinning at me. My smug little cat who got the cream.

CJ Lemire takes a page from a fairy tale in “Princess Games”:

Sleeping Beauty lies sprawled across our canopy bed, dolled out in ruby-red corset, long black skirt, and fuck-me shoes.

Acoustic guitar plays from the speakers. An orangey scent wafts across the room. Reflected candlelight tangos across the bedroom walls.

I set the ice bucket on the dresser, kiss her, take in her perfume. Boyfriend. The one that makes her smell like she’s just come from some other man’s arms.

My hard-on strains against my suit trousers. Wait till my mouth gets to your other lips, Sweetheart.

From the hope chest at the foot of the bed I select four lengths of rope, the blindfold, lube, peppermint oil, and a pair of nipple clamps, which I toss into the ice bucket.

Anything else I might need? Once the lid’s closed I can’t go back, my selections are made. Perhaps the vixen has panties on, cleverly tucked under her garter straps? I add a pair of EMT scissors to my pile.

I have an hour to get Sleeping Beauty to rouse and respond. Fail, and I’m hers for the night. But if I win, and I intend to win, she’s all mine.

Game on, Princess.

Although you really don’t need anything in order to role play, costumes and other accoutrements (say a sex toy or two) can ratchet up the pleasure immediately. If you open that door in your mind, you’ll find all sorts of unusual uses for rubber gloves, ties, ace bandages, spatulas… Then ask yourself: Who do I want to be tonight?

Alison Tyler is the editor of fifty erotic books for Cleis Press. Her novellas have been published by Harlequin, Go Deeper, and Pretty Things Press. “Dark Secret Love,” her first in a series of meta-novels, recently won the Gold Ippy for Erotica. Please visit her at alisontyler.blogspot.com for coffee and snark 24/7.

Buy link: Amazon

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