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.