SinCyr’s first anthology of sex-positive, consensual, and kinky erotica, Getting It, comes out September 15. Along with all those good things, it’s also the BEST thing: 13 stories of complete femdom.
Frankly, my contributor’s copy can’t come fast enough.
In the days leading up to the release, I’m sharing excerpts from both my stories in Getting It.
“Silver Bracelets” is a cozy and domestic fantasy, because women can take erotic control in the most everyday scenarios. Although it’s not every day that you get handcuffs as a present. The heroine’s synesthesia heightens the sensuality of her welcome home to her boyfriend in this story about shiny new toys and loving something so much you can eat it up.
She comes up to him and grabs his arms as soon as he has his jacket off. It crumples to the floor, and she kicks the bundled fabric away. A startle travels through him under her fingers. It’s like she can feel his pulse vibrating in his wrists—maybe she does, maybe that is what she senses moving through his body when she brushes against it. By stretching her fingers she can hold both his wrists in one hand.
He’s not frail, exactly, but delicate. Not fragile but vulnerable. That was part of what attracted her to him, looking past their union of opposites. He doesn’t have strength so much as vigorous energy, which turns his tall and skinny frame into a snarl of movement, a blur of excitement, a tempest that can meet hers in an embrace even more enthusiastic than it is awkward.
But in contrast to him, now she feels steady, slow, deliberate. She unbuttons his shirt cuffs, baring tender skin. He keeps his wrists crossed even when she lets go. Light hairs stand on end as her fingertips brush, turning his limbs when necessary to roll up his sleeves. She lets the cuffs dangle from her thumb, a balancing act that might turn to juggling at any moment. It’s a relief that he can’t see that. The spell being wound around him isn’t disturbed by her unfamiliarity with their new toy.
It doesn’t distract her much, either. Especially when she slips them on him.
They look so pretty as they lock around his wrists—like bracelets, bright and decorative. They have a little give, enough to slide half an inch or so along his forearms when he draws them apart as if checking his new limits. The silvered surface sends a dazzle of light over his skin and the back of his shirt, into her eyes.
“Oh my God,” she whispers. “This is beautiful.”
He turns his head but not the rest of himself, tossing a floppy lock of hair from over his ear to better hear her. She wonders if he can’t quite believe her words.
“Beautiful,” she repeats, tracing a blue vein to the first metal loop, then over the short chain connecting it to the second one. She keeps her hands trailing over his body as she walks around him. He’s warm under the close-fitting dress shirt; a fiery brightness beats off him into her palm and fingertips.
She follows his shoulder to his neck, takes him by the nape and pulls him down toward her. Almost thrown off balance, he spreads his feet to find it again. The motion brings his lips the last bit closer, and she takes them with hers. The kiss is pillowy, rich and gentle. Her fingers curve behind his ear, stroking his soft hair.