Twisted: Bondage with an Edge, edited by Alison Tyler, is a deliciously sexy new book from Cleis Press.

This collection has a range of pieces involving bondage, and every one of these stories I found to be refreshing if not totally surprising. Each story has a new spin on what you might picture an erotica bondage tale encapsulates. Think you know everything there is to know about bondage? Think again, by picking up this book and seeing how things can differ.

Oh how I adored the story “Bound by Sight” by J. Sinclaire. This tale is about a woman who fucks men while her new man of intrigue watches from a neighboring window. This woman is literally bound by the sight of her audience, and her pleasure is on display for his eyes only.

I found Veronica Wilde’s “Wilderness Test” to be so fantastically erotic. This story involves a junior counselor sneaking away from job duties to fuck a fellow counselor, which is hot in its own right. But then she gets caught by a senior counselor who takes this tale to another level. It’s incredible, but I won’t spoil it for you–go read it!

I was captivated by how Molly Moore writes in the piece “Love to Hate:”

I hate you even more. You’re playing with me, like a cat plays with a wounded mouse until it’s so broken all it can do is give itself up to the monster that has captured it. The hate charges through my body, sending pulses of electric desire into my cunt, making me throb with agonizing need.

And these examples, my friends, are just the tip of an ice cube trailing along my curves–much like the ice cubes used in Thomas S. Roche’s piece “Body Temperature.” Alison Tyler did a fantastic job curating this twisted anthology. This book spun the ideas of bondage erotica and made them refreshing, surprising, and just plain erotic.

What more can I say? I loved this book. Check out the excerpt below. Thanks to Cleis Press for sending me this book in exchange for my opinion of it. xoxo


Excerpt: “Foundation Stone” by Jax Baynard.

Graham kissed her again, not on the mouth. “I want to tie you up,” he said, “and fuck you.” Her eyes widened only slightly. He could be direct, too. “Will you run?” he said. He lifted his hands, making it easy for her to go.

“I don’t think so,” she answered.

He walked away. “On this,” he said.

“Painful,” Julia replied. The table he indicated was a table saw. The blade was twelve inches across and curved teeth curled around the rim like waves in a Hokusai print of the sea. He flipped a lever and the blade sank out of sight. He picked up the cord and held it. Julia walked to where he stood. Closer, she could see the dark flush staining his cheekbones, evidence that he was not as calm as he seemed. This was not a date. She did not have to play by those rules. This was not an assignation, something her ex-husband was very much in favor of. She did not know what this was. The man next to her had not moved except to gauge her height and make another adjustment to the table and now he waited, not speaking. A fall, Julia decided. A jump from a precipice. But the ground was a long way off.

She expected him to taunt her. Scared? Can’t make up your mind? Run away, little girl. He touched her again, running a calloused fingertip from the hollow of her throat to her nipple, surprisingly gentle. The nipple pebbled anyway, making her shudder. She had been married on her twenty-first birthday and she was thirty-two. The number of decisions she made every day was appalling. She sometimes tried to avoid making any, but then there were more the next day, piled up on her doormat like unopened mail. To be tied down? To have someone else make the decisions, even for half an hour? She was delirious from the thought. “On or off?” She gestured to her top.

“Like this.” He pulled it up until her breasts were exposed, but left it on. He bent and sucked her nipples until her legs gave out, then he bent her over the saw. He tied one hand with the cord, looping it over her wrist several times and knotting it to the leg. The other hand he tied with duct tape. She felt the adhesive on the fine hairs of her wrist. He tugged, and she felt an answering throb in her pussy. He spread her legs, putting her feet where he wanted them. He peeled down her running tights, leaving the material bunched below her hips. Everything was hard—the table, the floor, the walls, the man behind her, her memories (how do you say you love someone for ten years and wake up one day and not like what you see?)—except her flesh, pale and yielding. His breathing roughened. “Every day I thought of this,” he said, opening her with his hands. “Every time I saw your ass twitch by, I imagined this.”

She was wet already, drenched. “I thought you were busy,” Julia said.

“Not that busy,” he countered.

If she turned her head she could find the view, but she didn’t want it. She wanted the dark and the waiting and the feeling, when it came, pulled an inhuman sound from her throat.

“Go ahead,” he told her. “There’s no one to hear.” He pushed into her with one hard, sure thrust. It bore no resemblance to the inept fumblings of men who needed permission to start and praise when it was over. The table threatened to roll with the force of his thrusts and he flipped a switch to stop it. The wheels locked in place. Julia turned her face against the cold metal, her nipples rubbing on the fine corrugations of the surface. Her hands strained against the bonds; her right had enough room to twist and hold the table leg. Her left, held fast in the tape, flexed and fisted on air. It went on for a long time. He was strong and big and he pushed her through the first heady spasms of desire. He felt the instant her body surrendered to the hard work of fucking; he dragged her from there to a place where, even as she tensed to take him, again and again, her body went liquid and hot and she couldn’t control her limbs so he did it for her.