April 17, 2014

A Bouquet of Reviews...

In the midst of a whirlwind week, I'm pausing to smell the reviews... This one is from City Book Review's Axie Barclay for The Delicious Torment. I wish I had the words (come on, you writer) to say what this review meant to me. But I'm just without speech. Barclay says:

"The goal of fiction isn't to make us feel comfortable. It's to challenge us. If you don't want to be challenged, read something else. If you want to be stretched, pushed, slapped, humiliated, and ultimately, built back up, try being tormented by Alison Tyler."

The entire view is here.


Sommer Marsden's Lost In You continues to gather glorious reviews, like this one:

"Sometimes the right book comes along right when you need it. I had just finished reading something dark and desperately needed something light. Most of the time light means fluffy, frilly, and a bunch of other f-words. But this one was different."

And this one:

"This was a very good, very hot read. The chemistry between Clover and Dorian is electric and jumps off the page. The sex scenes are hot and very well written (as I expect in one of Sommer Marsden's books).

And this one:

"Another great romance by this author. This book gets you hooked from the beginning."


Finally, in our review round-up, we have Violet Blue's new Smart Girl's Guide to Privacy. The reviews  include:

"This book is clear and correct. It doesn't do the obvious (but naive) thing and just say "don't use a computer at all!" — realistically, there's a lot of benefit to having an online social life, and the book lays out the risks and precautions you can use to make your own decisions."


More reviews, and um, you snooze you lose news, soon!


April 16, 2014

How to Ask for What you Want in Bed...

This week (so far) I've written three articles on spec. I adore writing articles. I got my start in newspapers. In college, I was beat up in Comp 101 for penning leads rather than thesis sentences—while I was simultaneously being published in two different newspapers. (And seriously, who the fuck wants to read a thesis sentence?) Over the years, I've worked for several papers, websites, a handful of magazines, and a 'zine or two. (Yeah, I'm that old.)

Readers tend to like the fact that I break the writing rules. I have a chatty, conspiratorial way of writing that professors frown on. And I fucking love writing like this. (See, I just broke some rules. I started with an And. I used fuck. I wrote in first person. Ta da!)

Luckily, I have landed at several locations that appreciate my tongue-in-cheek style. Most recently, I had a piece accepted for Slutty Girl.

I read the guidelines carefully (like you do). The editors did not want pornography or erotica. I wasn't exactly sure what that meant for me (bad girl that I am), so I used no dirty words and put on my white cotton panties. But I did write a whole piece about how to ask for what you want in bed.

Check it out and let me know what you think!


April 15, 2014

Free Smut Tuesday!

Yes, yes, yes! I'm still paying authors and sending back contracts and organizing a Never Say Never tour... and in the midst of all of this, I'm trying to promote Twisted—which is a seriously sexy collection of BDSM erotica published by Cleis Press.

Krissy Novacaine plucked this story from the line-up, saying: "...this piece was really sexy for me. I think it was because it was more about the power dynamic than the fact that they were men that made it work so well for me."

The story is called Any Lightness Between Black and White and it's by Dante Davidson:

            “You seem confused.”
            I was standing in front of the wall of hankies, thinking, Damn, there are a lot of screwy people out there. When I say wall, I mean I was facing a fucking floor-to- ceiling wall of different-colored bandanas. Each bin was labeled with the code. Some of the labels made me hard—I’ll say that right away. But others made me shake my head in wonder. Blue/teal = cock & ball torture (when worn on the left) or cock & ball torturee when worn on the right. I actually mouthed the word “toturee” as I’d never seen it written before. Mauve = “into navel worshippers” if worn on the left, or “has a navel fetish” if worn on the right.
            Lavender meant “likes drag queens” on the left or “drag queen” if worn on the right. Would you really need a hanky for that? I wondered. Would a drag queen, all dolled up in finery, deign to wear a hanky?
            I must have been standing by the wall for a while, because suddenly I felt a presence behind me.
            “Need any assistance?” a man asked me, his voice an undeniably sexy rumble.
            I turned my head, startled from my reverie. The stranger was tall and lean, dressed in dark jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt. I wondered if there was a color for what he was offering—and if that imaginary hanky were worn on the left would it mean “provides assistance” and if worn on the right mean “needs assistance”? Clearly, I was out of my league.
            The man smiled at me. He had a nice smile, dark curly hair, the type of gray eyes that have always made me think of the stained glass—as if an inner light is shining through.
            “Are you looking for something special?” he asked, and his voice caressed me once more. His fingers strolled through the different bins, lingering on the various wants head/cocksucker (light blue), wears boxer shorts/likes boxer shorts (paisley).
            “How do people keep these things straight?” I asked.
            “We don’t get a lot of straight here,” he said, grinning.
            “No, really.”
            “There are a few main popular ones,” he said, shrugging, “the rest are more for show.”
            “And the popular ones are…”
            He faced me again, and he said once more but in a more suggestive voice, “Are you looking for something special?”
            When I first considered cruising the gay scene, I knew I would be at a deficit. Not only am I shy—ungodly shy—but I’m also colorblind. I don’t mean that in the “we are the world” way—although I honestly don’t care about a lover’s nationality as long as there’s chemistry. No, I mean, there are colors I can’t see. Or colors I see wrong. So that if I were to walk into a bar and note a pale blue hanky in a guy’s back pocket, and think—oh, cocksucker—I could be way off base. The blue might be pink, and I might accidentally pick up an “armpit freak,” or a “cowboy’s horse.” Not that there’s anything wrong with those desires—they just don’t happen to be mine.
            The hanky code—which could have helped me get around what my shyness prevented me from discovering—was truly the bane of my existence.
            I lamented my problem to the stranger at the sex toy store on the Castro, and he asked matter-of-factly, “Why don’t you simply buy a hanky, slip it into your back pocket, and wait for the right man to find you?”
            “I can’t wait,” I said, and I knew I sounded breathless. Then, worried, I asked, “Does that sound stupid?”
            “No,” he said, “it sounds honest. How long have you been in town?”
            Was it that obvious? “Two days.“
            “What’s your name?”
            “Daniel, I’m Lem.” He took a step closer to me, and I could feel the heat coming off him. I was almost dizzy from our connection. Screw the colors, I wanted him to take me right there, kiss me, press me up against the wall of hankies and…
            “What fetish were you looking for?” he asked.
            I swallowed hard. I’m shy, like I said. And I have such a difficult time—have always had a difficult time—asking for what I want. But here it was, my chance. I wasn’t going to let this go. “Bondage,” I whispered.
            He smiled and looked at me. “Gray.” He didn’t ask if I were bottom. He didn’t have to. He took me from the wall of hankies and into the toys, grabbed up a few different devices, and then led me out the back door to his pick-up truck.
            “Don’t you have to pay for those?”
            “Not when you own the store,” he said. We drove to his house in the Marina, and when we got to the spot, he said, “You have a safeword?”
            I shook my head.
            “Let’s go with hanky,” he said, and he winked at me. He was obviously enjoying himself. I will admit that I was, too. My dick was rock hard in my 501s. But I was also nervous. I’d been craving this forever, and I didn’t know what to do, how to move forward, what to say. My fantasies rarely featured much dialogue. I guess my fear was evident, because Lem put his hand on my back.
            “Don’t worry so much,” he said, and he led me into his house, to his bedroom and stripped me of my boots, jeans, and shirt. He had me cuffed to his bed in a matter of minutes, my wrists anchored above me, my legs apart. My cock stood at attention, begging for release, but he ignored my erection.           
            “So you were looking for a hanky,” he said.
            “Because you wanted someone to give you what you wanted.”
            I nodded.
            “So what do you want?”
            I rattled the chains. “This.”
            “What else?”
            I’d rarely gotten past this image. My fantasies had almost always ended here, with me tied to a bed. The tying had been what was important. The being unable to go. Except I’d had to go far in order to get to this place. I’d had to leave my small, dull hometown in the Midwest, ride a bus for a miserable amount of hours, hole up in the cheapest hotel I could find, and then walk into a sex toy store in order to make my dreams come true.
            Sure, there had been a few stolen kisses in my past. A drunken night behind a bar when a man I’d known forever made a move and I let him touch me. But I hadn’t ever told anyone what I truly desired. I hadn’t figured out how.
            Lem said, “Use your imagination, boy. What next?”
            I sighed and said, “Let me come.”
            “That’s it? Bind you down and make you come? I don’t think so…”
            I closed my eyes. I tried to figure out what he’d want me to say. I saw the images in the magazines I’d been jerking off to for years. Lem came close to me. He kissed me and then bit my bottom lip hard, startling me with the pain. I opened my eyes and stared into his. “Daniel. What do you want me to do?”
            I said, “Hurt me,” and I felt my dick leak a little pre-come.
            “Yes,” he said, nodding. “That’s what comes next.”
            He undid my ankles and easily flipped me on the mattress, my wrists still bound over my head. Then he retied my legs, and he stood at the side of the bed.
            “We’ll start with a paddle,” he said. “Don’t come on my sheets. I won’t like that.”
            I sucked in my breath and waited. He started to spank me. As he did, he said, “Fuchsia’s the hanky for those who like to be spanked. What color is fuchsia for you?”
            “Gray,” I murmured.
            He spanked me harder and I worked to not buck my hips against the mattress. The friction of the position made me feel as if I might climax at any minute.
            “Yellow is for people who like golden showers. What color is yellow for you?”
            “Gray,” I told him. I was having a harder time speaking now, and my cock was a living, beating muscle of desire. What would he say if I told him I couldn’t hold back?
            “Blue is oral sex,” he said. “What’s blue to you?”
            I sighed, “Gray… I’m going to come.”
            “Not yet!” He dropped the paddle and climbed onto the mattress behind me. He undid my ankle restraints and pulled me up on my knees. I felt lube between my asscheeks, and I groaned as he slid one finger into my hole. “I’m going to fuck you,” he said, adding another finger, stretching me open. “And then you can come.”
            I nodded at his words, thinking, You’d better fuck me quick, then, because this is all too much for me. He finger-fucked me a few more seconds, and the he was in motion, pressing the big head of his fat cock to my backdoor, giving me a second to grow accustomed to the sensation before slamming all the way home. I was crying at the way that he filled me up, the way he made me his. His cock rode me hard and fast. There wasn’t a hanky color for what I was feeling—taken and used and fulfilled and needed. Or if there were, it would have been a rainbow.
            “What color are your eyes?” I asked, suddenly needing to know. “Are they green or blue?”
            “Gray,” he said, and he reached his hand under my body and milked my dick for me until I was shooting, coming all over his fist and my belly and his blankets. I worried for a second, since he’d told me he wouldn’t like that, but then I let the worry go. He was making me come after all. He shot his load a second later, filling me up with his spend, then pulling out and staring down at me. I didn’t think he was going to let me go for a minute, but he did, undoing the cuffs and taking me with him into the shower.
            “You wanted bondage,” he said. “You came to a big city, looking for bondage, and you were lost, weren’t you?”
            I nodded. He was working the soap over me in the shower—his beautiful eyes smiling at me, his big hands roaming over my body.
            “Poor baby,” he said, kissing me under the spray, fisting my dick once more as the water rained down on us. “The hanky for bondage is gray,” he said, and he started to laugh. “And when you looked at that wall, all you saw were fifty shades of…”
            “Don’t say it,” I begged him, and I silenced his mouth with my own.


I'm trying to generate a little buzz for the book, so if you like the story, please consider buying the whole collection (and leaving a review—nudge, nudge, wink, wink). There are more than 20 stories total to tie you up in cuffed kinkiness.


April 14, 2014

"...nobody does it with as much style and skill..."

Yes, I'm still working through my papers. You should see my desk.  (No, wait. Maybe you shouldn't.) There are brightly colored envelopes, contracts, Johnny Cash stamps, and glossy little red fortune fish swimming all over the surface. But I'm getting there... 

While you're waiting for Monday to take effect, please check out this unbelievably awesome new review by Saachi for The Delicious Torment:

Let Me Not to the Marriage of True Minds Admit Impediment

You’ve seen the line above in Shakespeare’s sonnet number 116. You’ve probably heard it read. But (it) isn’t about weddings, as such, but about two people who match each other’s needs so perfectly that nothing can destroy their love.

Alison Tyler’s The Delicious Torment, the sequel to her Dark, Secret Love, is about two people with such intense, specific, on-the-edge needs that it seems like a miracle that they found each other.

Samantha, the heroine based on Alison Tyler herself, is “ensconced in an S/M relationship that makes everything I’ve done before turn a whiter shade of pale.” Jack is older, a high-powered lawyer, whose need to dominate through “pain and shame and utter humiliation” could only be satisfied by a woman like Samantha, as strong in her way as she is submissive. Pain and humiliation are pleasure to her, even when she dreads them, and they bring her to orgasm even when they bring her to tears. Jack gives her what she needs, and she loves him without reserve, while he needs her love as much as her submission, even though he needs her to prove that love over and over.

There are plenty of S/M books out there now, but nobody does it with as much style and skill as Alison Tyler. Nobody makes it as real, as convincing, as appealing even to people whose tastes have never run that way. And the story here is more than a series of “scenes,” even though the traditional canes and belts and crops and chains play their part. The relationship has its twists and turns and unexpected deviations, especially when it comes to involve a third person. There are adjustments and alterations that might strain a love less strong. Jack’s difficulty in trusting Samantha’s love and the lengths he goes to in testing her could have destroyed the very thing he craved. But no impediment is great enough to tear these true minds (and bodies) apart.

What's funny is that I know the poem by heart. It's one of those treasured snippets I carry around with me in the back pocket of my mind. This weekend, I had a different poem echoing and reverberating. Do you know Jenny Kissed Me? For some reason, I rolled those words around all weekend long.

But back to work. I'll be in touch shortly with those of you who want to be part of a Never Say Never tour. And I'll do whatever else it is I'm supposed to do as soon as I figure out which way is up.


April 13, 2014

Come out to the coast...

I love Die Hard. I can hear Bruce Willis say this line in my head. Why? Because I know the movie by heart. So when I interviewed Sommer Marsden yesterday, and I mentioned a "fill-in-the-blanks question"—I heard Alan Rickman's voice. And then I asked you all to guess the movie. And hell, you did! A message-in-a-bottle moment to see so many other Die Harders out there! (Die Hardians? Die Hardites?)

I now want/need a whole slew of shirts from Red Bubble. Because damn.

So for all of you who commented, I have one of these pencils. (If you ever buy from The Carbon Crusader, tell her where you saw her work. I am in love with her wit, her charm, and her pencils. And when I recently placed an order, the pencils shipped on the same day and arrived two days later.) Just drop me a note with your snail mail address, and I'll hook you up. (I'm at msalisontyler at yahoo dot com.)

For the rest of the day, I'm going to be sending out payment for Never Say Never and compiling contributor copy information for Cleis Press. And then I'm going to be attempting to put together a blog tour for the book. If you'd like to be part of the tour—as a writer in the book or as a reviewer or reader—please drop a note to msalisontyler at yahoo dot com!

When I've finished all that, I've got a reward planned... Yeah. Die Hard and I, we have a date on the sofa. There will be licorice. And champagne. And possible nudity.


April 12, 2014

Lost in Sommer

Sommer Marsden is my best friend I've never met. In honor of her new novel, Lost In You, I decided to create questions for each letter in the title. (Like you do.) Some of the queries deal specifically with the novel and some focus more on Sommer, herself—because hey, I'm nosy!

Lost In You opens to page 72. What does the reader see?

‘See, I told you. Actual, real bed.’ Dorian pulled back the duvet and the lovely white high-thread-count sheets. He pressed the mattress with his hand, grinning. ‘And it’s a virgin bed.’
I snorted before quickly covering my face. 

‘Then I certainly can’t sleep in it.’

‘If that’s what I meant, Clover, the act of me climbing into it would cause it to burst into flames.’ He winked at me and again I had that feeling as if we shared some secret joke.

‘Touché.’ I sighed. I knew he heard the frustration in that small sound by the way he looked up.

‘You still upset because you can’t get through?’

We’d gone back to the main entrance courtesy desk and tried my grandmother again. No answer. Just the monotonous, nerve-wracking sound of overloaded phone lines. A lot of cells were down, most likely due to the storm, and people were falling back on landlines.
‘Yes. And standing there in the entrance watching what seems like the world blow by didn’t help my nerves.’ The deluge had been phenomenal. Rain so dense it just looked like a solid sheet of gunmetal grey perpetually falling from the sky. My chest had gone tight with worry as I watched. And then a wrought-iron bench from around the outdoor fountain had scooted by, drifting across the pavement as if it weighed no more than a paper bag.

‘I know. But I assure you, your grandmother is fine.’ He held a hand out to me and I took it. We stood there like that, clasping clasping hands across the big, beautiful empty bed for a moment. Then I blushed and dropped his hand to step back.

Only 6 of your CDs survive to the desert island with you. What are they?

U2 Joshua Tree, INXS Kick, The Lost Boys Sound Track, The Best of Cat Stevens, The Best of Otis Redding, Beethoven: Piano Concerto No. 5, 'Emperor'.

Someone has offered to cook your favorite meal. (Not me, obviously, since I can't cook.) But say a real life chef has offered you a dream-come-true meal. What is on your plate?)

I’ll pretend I’m not gluten free for this meal. It would be really good country fried chicken, buttery mashed potatoes, succotash, sweet cornbread, biscuits (yes, both, I am also not doing Shaun T’s T25 for this imaginary, magical meal), my mother’s iced tea, my grandmother’s homemade root beer and her frozen sweetened peaches. Oh, and then monkeyball cake for dessert. This was my birthday meal for many, many, many moons. (Though I added to it a bit). Now…someone roll me to the sofa.

There’s $19.72 in the pocket of your jacket. You put in your hand and discover free money! What do you spend it on?

Probably postage! I’m always mailing stuff out to people. That or to buy drinks for my minions at the Barnes&Noble café. One XL Mountain Dew and a Grande Chocolate Frappucino, please. Then the rest would float around in my pocket until I saw little doodads to give to people, probably.

In ten words, describe Clover Brite, the heroine from Lost In You.

Dedicated, sincere, sexy but not quite sure she is, funny, earnest, flighty (but just a bit, anxious, genuine, smitten, happy.

Nearby you on your desk is… 

The edge of my desk! I’m working on my roll-around mobile laptop desk. There’s no room for knick-knacks. Although, I have this desk parked next to my dining room household secretary (no lie) and on that is an antique alarm clock my father bought in Gettysburg, PA when I was about four.

You can take Clover on a fantasy girls' escape vacation. Where do the two of you go?

I would hands down drag my lovely Clover to Key West. Sand, sun, booze, breezes. Because I’ve never been! Although, a character in an upcoming book got to go recently. She had a blast. I have friends who go there often and when they post their pics on FB I sit and sort of…sigh. Key West is on my bucket list, for sure.

Oh, drat! There’s one color left in the hardware store’s paint section. Thankfully, it’s the hue you wanted to use to paint the living room. What color did you luck out with?

Eep! You’re going to unfriend me, Ms. Tyler, but I have to say white. If you had said any room but living room it would have been another hue but my living room is half paneling circa 1970-something. And they painted it white. The white gives what could be a horrid situation a barn-like rustic feel that I love. So I’d have to just give her a new whitewash. Call me Tom Sawyer if you must. Oh, but that means I’d probably trick boy child into doing it for me…

Ultimately, you can only have one male character from True Blood as your screen saver. You do you bat your eyelashes at each time you long on?

Alcide! I know he ruffled my feathers last season and I had a moment or two of forsaking Alcide, but he pulled his head out of his ass and I now would gladly drape his manly form over my desktop. Or my actual desk. Wait, let me close the curtains.

* And now for the question of the day: which movie is this quote from?

“Mr. Takagi, I could talk about men's fashion and industrialization all day but I'm afraid work must intrude, and my associate Theo has some questions for you, sort of fill in the blanks questions...”

Do I have to tell them that I asked you? Yes, yes, I do. Okay, Alison…what movie IS IT???!!!

Sommer Marsden is a professional dirty word writer, gluten-free baker, sock addict, fat wiener dog walker, and expert procrastinator. She writes for HarperCollins Mischief, Ellora's Cave, and many other publishing companies.

Lost In You can be yours for $3.79. No joke. That is less than, well, almost anything. Less than a cup of gourmet coffee. Less than a pair of socks. Less than a Lost In Space Robot (though, he is pretty cool). 

The book is raking up sizzling reviews on Goodreads and Amazon already! Oh, and don't forget to answer my question of the day for a chance to win a surprise gift! (I couldn't write the query: 'fill in the blanks question" without hearing that quote in my head.)


P.S. I'll post the comments at the end of the day so everyone has a fair chance to guess.

April 11, 2014

"...vivid and authentic..."

In the midst of writing a series of utterly filthy stories, I got an idea for (wait for it) an utterly filthy story. To my supreme delight, the idea spread itself out into a novelette—the sequel to Those Girls. I've kind of been waiting for this one. I love my character, Sandy, in Those Girls. He's a dreamy bisexual dom who makes me sit up straighter as I write him.

Annabeth Leong said: "It was nice to be in the head of a dominant male who's a character not a caricature, catching glimpses of his vulnerabilities, assumptions, desires..."

Jade A. Waters said: "Those Girls is true Alison Tyler style: rich characters, wild sex scenes, and a great big dose of incredibly sexy BDSM flair.

Crystal said: As I told Alison on Twitter, I can't help but love a submissive whose safe word is misogynist."

I have a little behind-the-scenes information about Those Girls here.

And I'm so grateful that Go Deeper let me write from the POV of a male dom. I can't tell you how liberating that is. Not to have to flip the story and write from the sub. Not to have to step back and write about the people in my head. Not to have to force him to be purely hetero. But to be one, to be him, to see what he sees. Years ago, I started a femme/domme novel. At the time, I was told there was no market for the book, that I couldn't put my "brand" on a novel with a sub male/Dominant heroine.

What a relief that times have changed!


April 10, 2014

"How does your husband feel about what you do?"

That was a question I was asked recently in an interview. My initial, smart-ass internal response was, "Oh, god! Please don't tell him! Shhhh. He thinks I work for Gourmet!"

But of course I said he's both supportive and inspiring. I wonder what the interviewer thought I would say. After having my soul shredded in an early demoralizing relationship, I decided never to do that again. I'd rather be alone than hook up with someone who didn't want to be with me. All of me. The me who gets up before dawn and writes dirty stories. The me who sees sex everywhere.

Speaking of never... (ha, five points for the fancy segue, yes?), Never Say Never is out early! I haven't seen the book yet, but it's already snagged a 5-star review:

"Alison Tyler is the go-to lady on sexual fantasies. If there's something you want to try, she will have written about it, read about it, or done it herself. I think it's this genuine fascination with sexual adventurousness that makes Never Say Never so fantastic. BRB - going to try some tips now!"

Authors, Cleis Press will have your copies soon, and I'll be in touch regarding payment. Readers, start your engines! I cannot wait to hear what you think of the new guide!


April 09, 2014

Smut on Sale

Every so often, Cleis Press offers Kindle books at a deep discount. And when I say "deep," I mean like Leviathan deep. (Oh, gosh. Has anyone done Leviathan sex? No, wait. Don't tell me.) Back to the smut on sale...

This month, you can buy any of the following for $1.99:

Love At First Sting
Heat Wave

That is 88% off the cover price. Now, I promise you, there are no strings attached to this deal. But if you liked any of the books, and if you were in a generous frame of mind, please consider leaving a review for me on Amazon. Every little bit helps!


April 08, 2014

"I came so hard..."

"You helped make me the porn writer I am today..."

This fell into my in box a little while back, and I kept the email as new because I was so moved. Xan West wrote an entire piece about writing erotica and working with me, and I am honestly speechless. Oh, wait. No. Here come some words...

As an editor, I do my best. That's really all I can say. I do my best to put together books of stories that are sexy, that are engaging, that hit the mark, paint the town red, stay up all night, drink too much scotch... oh, wait, I think I segued into a bio by accident. Or a description of my weekend.

But I do try. I try to work with new writers. I try to choose stories that push my own comfort zones. Xan West's writing stands out. The words are razor-sharp—all barbed wire and kerosine. The stories ring true. So thank you, Xan for the piece. It felt like a Valentine.

Speaking of ringing true (and of editing), I mentioned yesterday that I had tripped over one of my own worst sentences of all time. In case you missed that, here's a redux. The short set-up: I was writing a scene in which a woman was sucking one guy and fucking another. (Like you do.) I actually wrote the following:

I came so hard, I pulled off Raymond's dick.

Now, I edit a lot of smut. And things are always getting ripped off, detached, and torn away in the heat of the moment. But hell. I never want to pull anyone's dick off.

Care to share your own best of the worst?


P.S. If you want to read one of Xan's stories, check out "Nervous Boy" in Love at First Sting.

April 07, 2014

"Fast paced and intriguing..."

This book not only pulled me in but had me glued to my seat...

Oh, yes. This is the review I want to look at on Monday mornings. In fact, every Monday morning, I am going to read this review. Well, at least for the next few.

Samantha tells her story...taking me right along with her for the ride...and I do not want to get off just yet.

In preparation for the release of Wrapped Around Your Finger, I'm trying to drum up a few more reviews for the second novel. So if you read The Delicious Torment and liked it, please consider writing me a love note on Amazon.

For a Q&A about the book, please visit Geeky Nymph.

And hey—have a happy Monday!


April 06, 2014


I just learned this term a few days ago. (Thanks, Darius.) I'm so bad with acronyms. (God, it's an acronym, right? Like SCUBA. It's not an anagram. Holy hell.) Anyway, I'm 96.2% done with my new kink book. And I think the kink bled into my dreams.

See, last night, I dreamed I was married to a kinky man. (No big surprise there. Right? I could have just looked over in bed.) But this kinky man had a different type of kink streak. He kept making me do math. In fact, I remember one problem. It was 9s = 6s. Please don't judge me, but in my dream I cross multiplied. So I had 54 = s squared. Then I tried 9s - 6s = 0

When I woke up, the real kinky husband solved the problem for me. (With no hesitation.)

In the dream, I kept being punished for not being able to do the math. I think this was far more of a nightmare than a sex dream, although the sex was, in fact, sublime. And often based in San Francisco—perhaps because I'm so enamored by Violet Blue's candid shots of the city.

Back to YKIOK. I learned that this means Your Kink Is OK. Which is great. I have to remind myself this when I edit, because I never to put together a collection of only my *own* kink. I guess you would call that THE BIG BOOK OF ALISON TYLER'S OWN PERSONAL KINK. And there'd be a fuckload of spankings, handcuffs, punishment, discipline, gangbangs, oh, but I digress. If I focused solely on what turns me on, I might leave out fetishes that work for others. Soooo I try to hit all the marks. To flick every on switch. To turn the heat to high.

Now I am going to slide over to a different project before giving the book one last major read. This anthology contains 69 stories and equals 80,000+ words written by 40+ authors.



P.S. And then I bought myself this shirt as a reward.

April 05, 2014

Sex & Coffee

More than six years ago, I brewed up an anthology called Sex & Coffee. The book was going to be part of my "erotic vice" series. Then we were no longer able to hold onto our warehouse, and I got sidetracked.

But a conversation online yesterday poured a brand-new stream of interest into my cup. Hope to have more information shortly. I collected stories for this anthology, but I need to check back with all the writers—and I also will probably need to round out the book with new pieces.

So stay tuned. And pour yourself a cup of joe while you wait!


April 02, 2014

Never Say Never ... The Lipstick

Don't you love when someone gets you? Like understands exactly the type of joke that rings a laugh from your lips or the whispered suggestion that sits you up straighter in your chair? Or the email subject header that makes you click immediately to see what treasures await... Cora Zane sent me this one: Never Say Never... The Lipstick.

She said: "I was browsing lipsticks online (since IMO cool weather is officially lipstick ordering weather) and discovered there is/was/exists a Never Say Never lip pencil from NARS. It's not red, it is is the title of your sexy-smexy guide, so I instantly thought of you."

Look at that. I instantly thought of me, too!

The book is available on April 15th and I'm over-the-moon. Truth be told, I'm out of my comfort zone when writing guides. That's why I (think I) invented the format for Never Have the Same Sex Twice, which is part non-fiction and part short stories, erotic snippets, and quotes/confessions.

Some reviewers have complained that the style is not what they're looking for ("I was expecting guidelines... a list of do's and don'ts...") However, I have received more positive mail for this title than for any other. Check out this letter I was sent back in 2008. I cannot tell you how good that made me feel.

If you'd like to review the new guide, please drop a note to msalisontyler at yahoo dot com. And don't forget to check out Cora Zane on Goodreads!


April 01, 2014

Let's Swap...

I'm in a swapping frame of mind right now. Why? Well, I just finished this filthy, dirty, naughty story about a full-swap between partners. Oh, my god, I'm all flushed. Pretty cool that I can still do this to myself, isn't it? After all these years....

Oh, speaking of "all these years"... I have been known to refer to myself as a dinosaur. When you've been doing this for as long as I have, you start to feel, I don't know, a little Mesozoic around the ears. So when I started hearing about "dinosaur porn," I actually assumed the term referred to sex with older people.

No joke.

What an eye-opening experience I had! Taken by the T-Rex is one of many stories dedicated to this theme. The reviews are worth reading. I nearly swallowed my tongue.

But back to swapping. Eight or nine years ago, I penned a novel called Tiffany Twisted. The book is now out on Kindle, as well. The frisky tale recently received a fab new detailed review, which made me happy all weekend.


March 31, 2014

The Pie Has It!

The results are in for the Smut Marathon, Round 2. You can see that there were a lot of ties here. In fact, every slice matched another slice. I am going to list the authors with their stories below. Here is the link to their bios, so you can learn more about each one.

First Place tie (with 5 votes each):

Entry #1: Alison Winchester
Entry # 10: Renee Russell
Entry #12: Marie Rebelle

Second Place tie (with 4 votes each):

Entry #3: Oleander Plume
Entry #4: Jade A. Waters
Entry #14: Angell Brooks

Third Place tie (with 3 votes each):

Entry #7: Darius
Entry #9: Kal Cobalt

Entry #5: Beck Fletcher
Entry #6: Poetic Desires
Entry #11: Ruby Kiddell
Entry #13: Senda Salgado

We have to say goodbye, unfortunately, to the fabulous authors of Entry #2 (CJ Lemire) and Entry #8 (Calvin). I am hoping like hell I did this right. Authors, drop me a note if I've screwed up something along the line. I triple checked to make sure.

I'll be getting you a new assignment soon, but for today, let's all just kick back and relax.


P.S. While you're relaxing, why not peruse this fabulous new review for The Delicious Torment. Or better yet, she begged, write one?

March 26, 2014

Finally! The Smut Marathon Round 2!

I was joking with an editor friend that I cut the word "finally" from many stories I work on. Only to add that word into my life. Like, "Finally, I sent out this month's royalties." "Finally, I'm editing the new collection." So here you go. Finally! Smut Marathon Round 2!

The assignment was to take a first line from the last round and write a 250 word story start. The line didn't have to be used as the opener. The only rule (other than my standard rules of behavior) was that the line couldn't be your own.

Here's what happened. You'll notice several of the lines were popular, used by multiple players. (This thrills me. I love seeing how different authors tackle the same situation.) I posted these in the order they arrived in my box. Read them all and vote for your favorite. Poll closes Sunday at midnight. (Not all had titles, so I simply numbered the entries. Poll is at the bottom of this post.)

Entry #1:

Here I was at my great aunt's wake, bent over the bathroom sink.

It's an awkward angle; the faucet is going to leave an imprint on my cheek, but it's totally worth it for the feel of Master's cock.

Knowing the number of people standing right outside in the hallway is only going to get me off sooner. It's the whole thrill of getting caught by someone -- god forbid by my Puritanical family -- that's causing that deep ache in my stomach. Well, that and Master's dick slamming into me. And the slightly painful rasp of my cock against the cabinet door.

I can see him in the mirror if I turn my head just right; his face slightly red, his eyes closed and head tilted back until the lines of his neck pull taut as the rope tying me to the towel rack. 

"Coming, coming, coming," he chants. I have to wait my turn, because Master's orgasm comes first and always.

He's so caught up in his impending orgasm he forgets where we are. He pulls at my shoulders to change the angle and reach for my dick, but he's forgotten I'm bound.

He groans, slamming into me hard, his cock pulsing his release just as the towel bar comes loose. We crash backward, out of the powder room and into the foyer, ending on our backs, my erection pointing due north toward my ex-wife's cocktail.

"Finally," she says. "This is the kind of wake your Aunt Ginny would have enjoyed."

Entry #2:

Here I was at my great aunt’s wake, bent over the bathroom sink. Shirt unbuttoned, trousers and boxers around my ankles, dick hard.

Mikaela paced, holding both ends of my belt in one hand, tapping the doubled leather against her other palm in time with the click of her heels on the tile.

“What do you want, Ryan?”

“To serve you, Mistress.”

Thwack. Her blow landed perfectly in the crease between ass cheek and thigh. I sucked in my breath, processed the pain.

“Not for nothing, but I’ve heard it before. The going got tough. You flaked.”

Carefully rehearsed words bubbled up. Everything I’d been dealing with then. The shitstorm at work, the bullshit with my brother. I forced them back down. They’d sound like excuses. Truth is, I should have said them to her at the time. Instead of standing her up at my collaring ceremony.

I lowered my eyes. “I know, Mistress. I’m sorry.”


The door swung open with a squeak. Whoever you are, please go away.

A blonde woman walked in and sidled up to Mikaela, who cupped her ass and pulled her in for a kiss. That’s when I noticed the silver circlet around Blondie’s neck.

“This is Erin,” Mikaela said. “She doesn’t flake.”

Erin batted mascara-tinted eyelashes at my reflection. “Is he on board?”

“With what?”

Thwack. “Only speak when spoken to.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“I need your mad hacker skills, Ryan. To help rob a bank.”


Entry #3:

It's because of the way she behaves that I've cuffed her to the towel rack for the second time this week. She was facing the wall, bent over, legs splayed wide, her only garment the red silk necktie that covered her eyes. I enjoyed watching her squirm while she waited for the next slap of my hand.

"Tell me again what you did, Nadine."

"I let a strange man on the train finger my pussy."

"Inside your panties or out?"

She giggled. "I wasn't wearing panties."

"You left home without underwear?" I left another handprint on her ivory skin.

"I like the way the cool air feels when it blows up my skirt, it tickles and makes me wet."

"You also like showing your pussy to other men, don't you?"

She smiled, then licked her lips. "The man sitting next to me was quite happy to see it."

"What did you do, Nadine?"

"I pulled up my skirt, just enough to give him a peek."

"And did he look?" She arched her back and shook her ass, but I made her wait. "Did he look?"

"He looked, then he touched."

"You didn't stop him?"

"No, I wanted him to touch me. I spread my legs, and let him rub my clit. I told him to make me come. The train was bumping along, with the sun streaming in through the windows. We were the only two on the car, except for a little old man, but he was sound asleep." 

Entry #4:

When Colleen first showed up at the Tuesday munch I dismissed her as a dabbler, a recent divorcée ticking off boxes on her sexual adventure bucket list who would go running back to Nillatown at her first encounter with real pain.
That’s why she threw me with the aggressive slip of her number into my pocket. And somehow, I’d ended up here—naked while she lay on her chaise lounge, filing her nails.

Filing her goddamn nails.

“Anthony,” she said, “you need to work on your assumptions.”

She’d been deliberate since I arrived, each action demonstrating her control. First she’d led me to her room and bade me strip off my clothes. Then, she’d cuffed my wrists into long chains affixed to the wall.

When she’d grasped my chin in one hand and used the other to cup my dick in a firm, startling hold, I understood this was about my bucket list, not hers.

 “See, I would have taken you for a Dom, but I didn’t assume.”

She dropped her file and stood.

“Not like you did. Silly boy.”

She smelled of lavender when she neared me. When she tilted up her mouth, her breath grazed my lips in a soft caress.
“I’m sorry, Colleen.”
“Oh yes, you will be.” She lifted the skirt of her gown, the fabric crawling up over a beautiful stretch of pale skin. She wore a garter on her thigh, and in it, she’d tucked a braided quirt.
My cock throbbed.

“Please,” I whispered.

Entry #5:

Karen lay in the darkness listening to the rustle and clink of Andrew rummaging through his kit bag of kinky implements - he’d spanked her and caned her so she was assuming it would be the paddle next; sighing she wondered when their kink life became so predictable.

 "What can I do?" She mused. Without thinking, the words escaped her mouth.

"I fucked the grocery store man today." Her words hung in the air. She had a moment of regret as she watched emotion color Andrew's face. 

"Really?" He stared. Karen opened her lips but he hadn’t waited for her reply.

Andrew said nothing when he came to bed. The next morning there was nothing.  An icy chill settled over the week.

Karen walked into the kitchen on Friday evening after work. Before she realized, a scarf had gagged her tightly. Her hands were tied behind her back before her brain ordered a struggle.  Darkness descended under a paper shopping bag that slid down over her head.
Fear chilled her to the core. Her heart drummed. Two bodies and four strong hands pinned her to the kitchen bench. She whimpered as her suit was cut away.  Someone caressed her naked body.

"Did the store boy satisfy you, Dear? I've been hard all week think of him pounding you. So I invited someone to help." 

Karen's heart skipped a beat at the sound of Andrew's voice. The scare turned to thrill throughout her body.

"That's more like it." she thought cheekily.

Entry #6:

"Death changes your perspective on life."

I was not in a position to disagree with him. Here I was at my great aunt's wake, bent over the bathroom sink. He was fucking me from behind, and doing quite a good job of it. I would've agreed with almost anything he said.

For a moment, I wondered if he'd given this speech to someone before me, someone who had been in the same position I was currently in. Had another, had many others, come just as hard as I did now, screams muffled by his hand clenched over their mouths, skirts wrenched up, stockings torn, hair a mess?

I didn't care. I stopped caring a long time ago what anyone thought of my sexual choices.

When I've told this story before, some found it morbid. Others uncouth or simply rude. If you'd known my aunt, though, you'd view the situation differently. My freedom from the shame of others was a life lesson I learned from her. She lived a life full of not giving a fuck.

The current rumor about her latest exploits involved her final days. Even as her health faded, she supposedly whispered to her lover one night, "I want to spend the most of my last moments with you inside me."

As he pulled my hair and slammed his cock into my cunt, as I came harder than I had in months, I said a silent prayer, a thank you to my aunt for her life lesson.

Entry #7:
Here I was at my great aunt's wake, bent over the bathroom sink.  Again.

Jason stood behind me, hard, ready, just like he had a dozen years ago.  He was my first back when I was 18, not quite a girl, not quite a woman.  College was just a few weeks away. I was determined to not arrive there a virgin. Jason was perfect.  He was already a cliché and didn’t know it. Back then, he was tall, hard and beautiful. Someone I couldn’t even approach at that age.

My great Aunt Sophie told me stories of her summers in the 70’s. I wanted my own summer memory. A day of sunning in the back yard, careful to let the knot on my bikini work lose before I turned to ensured he noticed. The next day he introduced himself. I dressed carefully; tank tops, shorts and just enough sweat. We kissed on the porch that night, our hands explored everything.  The second night I pulled his cock out and stroked it. It felt awkward at first, I’d never felt anything like it, hard and soft at the same time.
Sophie invited him to dinner, afterwards I pulled Jason into this bathroom and slid my shorts down. I leaned over the sink, elbows on the cold porcelain. In the mirror Jason closed his eyes and grabbed his cock. The pain wasn’t bad. He felt huge as he pushed in achingly slow, stretching me taut for the first time. It felt amazing.
Entry #8:

It had taken quite the effort to get David's 250-pound frame down the back stairs and his limp body crammed into the trunk of his Mercedes, but the alley had remained quiet bar the distant traffic. The wreck of the C63 would remain unnoticed at the bottom of the ravine until mid-morning, at least. By then Jenna would have alerted the police that her husband hadn’t come home to their Palo Alto mansion.

David had downed two more gin-and-tonics than he should have. Kyra easily sidled up to him at the bar, leaned over to whisper breathily into his ear she had nothing on under her short black skirt, and guided his hand there to verify the fact. Minutes later, he was deep inside Kyra as she sat astride him on her bed. Another couple of minutes, he was grunting to an orgasm when the last thing he saw was streetlight glinting off the letter-opener blade as it plunged into his heart.

Kyra couldn’t detect the metallic tang of David’s blood over the smell of ejaculate on her sheets and the garlicky aroma permeating throughout her pokey little Mission District apartment from the Lebanese restaurant below. Jenna was still sobbing from what she had just seen, hidden behind the screen by the bed. Kyra looked around to make sure that everything seemed untouched, while she absentmindedly wiped the fresh blood from the knife with a soft white cloth.

“Don’t worry darling, we’ll be just fine.” she said gently to Jenna.

Entry #9
It wasn't every day that you got to introduce your best friend's wife to BDSM. One red-wine confession led to intense three-way negotiations over brunches, emails, checklists, and finally, calendars.

Now, Eliot stood in their backyard, surrounded by tiki torches and soft white Christmas lights twined in the branches of a tree. Tatiana had chosen the milieu, tree-hugger that she was. Shadows danced on her pale skin like leaves below her bound wrists.

The branch creaked under the weight of her suspended body as he ran his fingers from her tethered wrists to her naked stomach. She sucked in a breath, ribs standing out as her belly hollowed. Eliot smiled at her eager, naive energy. He stepped behind her, one hand on her hip, and brought the leather-covered paddle down gently on her buttocks.

Tatiana squealed, laughed, and breathed a quick "sorry," all in a rush, even as she took the three tiptoed steps away that her bondage allowed. Eliot slid a hand between her thighs, cupping the sparse blonde hair of her pussy, cradling its warmth.

That stopped the motion and the talking. She breathed heavily, otherwise perfectly still. Eliot slid a finger between her labia, just inside, where heat and slickness waited. Holding her there, from the inside, he brought the paddle down harder.

Tatiana moaned, a sound of both pleasure and surprise, and from somewhere behind him Tatiana's husband mirrored the sound. Eliot smiled. Tatiana probably wasn't the only one he'd be indoctrinating.
Entry #10

He summoned and I came.  At his feet, I prostrated myself, spreading gossamer wings across the hard-packed dirt.

 “Tempt them,” he commanded, his voice rolling off walls of stone.  He was an archangel, possessing a tongue that could only be a legacy of the devil himself, while his eyes shone with an almost angelic innocence.

“As you wish.”  It was to be a test, for them, I thought. Humans have free will and it makes them inscrutable.  To know what lurks in their souls, we test them.  “What shall I tempt them with?”

 “It will come to you.”

 I stood, making ready to leave.  I turned into the flickering light of a thousand candles…

 …and turned out into the bright sunshine of a Roman morning.  

 Standing on the Ponte Sant'Angelo, beneath the stone angels, I watched a monk in a brown robe, belted at the waist with a rope, cross the via della Conciliazione.   He stopped short when he saw me, and for a moment I thought the man could see my true form.

 But no.  When I delved into his thoughts I saw lust. Saw myself, as he saw me, fresh and firm and nubile in mortal form, and I saw what he wanted.  I saw his mind form the intention to follow me, bind my hands with his rope, tear the clothes from my body. His palms dampened, his heart raced. 

 No matter that he wouldn’t act on his fantasy; intentions count.  His soul was damned.
Entry #11:

The bold hum of the tattoo needle droned like a shutri box, helping me ignore the erection as I outlined the tiny cat ears on my subject’s shoulder blade.  Working with skin and ink never gets old for me and come summertime I’m a sucker for sundresses over bikinis. There’s something so fuckable about a girl that’s just come from the beach, looking as healthy as apples and as wanton as if she’s just tumbled out of bed. 

That’s how Catgirl came into the shop, smelling of suntan lotion, salt, sun and sex - because I can sniff them out now, the ones for whom getting inked has that edge of arousal.

I’m glad it’s not her first tattoo, it makes me feel closer to her as I lean over her back and work on the outline. I imagine licking away the ink before trailing a path of tiny cat paw prints across her back and over the curve of her ass, inking my way into her pretty wet cunt.

I’m finished. She pulls her hair up onto her head and twists to see the winking kitty in the mirror and I’m busted.  I’m staring, licking my lips like I want to eat her up, because I do - it's a look that would spell out LUST if I had to paint it on her. 

As I clear up later the boss hands me my tips; a dollar bill with a paw print and number written in black ink.

Entry #12:

The branch creaked under the weight of her suspended body as he ran his fingers from her tethered wrists to her naked stomach. His fingers continued down a naked leg and up the other, avoiding the sensitive parts he knew she needed to have touched. He smelled her arousal; knew she was wet. She moaned and writhed in her restraints, unable to speak with the gag fixed tightly in her mouth. Fingers closed around her left breast and squeezed. Her eyes grew wider as the pain increased. A moan escaped from behind the gag. His fingers released her flesh, only to move over to the other side, hurting and bruising her right breast. Holding her gaze with his eyes, he moved his hand towards her wet center. His wide-spread fingers pushed into her red pubic curls. Slowly forming a fist, he clutched the short hairs between his fingers and pulled. A muffled scream formed around the gag as she unsuccessfully tried to arch her back. He held on until the scream died down and the writhing stopped. Still looking at him, she breathed heavily as her body and mind accepted the pain and surrendered. His clenched fingers opened as her body relaxed and turning his hand ever so slightly he slipped a finger into her wetness.

Entry #13
He was the one I pushed away, had to push away, because, so often, I lost myself in him. Finding myself alone again felt so freeing. But i knew him. He would come back. And I could not turn him away. Life with him would be as much of a challenge as life without him, but I did not have to be lost in him again. As equals we could be together. 

No more would he dominate all the time. We would switch things up. We would be the couple who could be chameleons and be who the other needed that night, that summer, that anniversary, this life. 

It had never occurred to me what the missing part was. I'd always thought you were either top or bottom. You couldn't be both. Now, it seemed, I yearned for more than being the one who was spanked and tied up. I had another person inside who wanted to play, so I bought her some toys. 

Everything I needed was in the black silk bag by the door. A white silk blindfold and scarf that would show off his beautiful mocha skin. A paddle with a handle made for my hand and for my pussy, as well. I knotted the scarf until I could do it quickly. I was wearing a black catsuit that hugged my endless curves while practicing with the paddle on my thigh. I was ready. 

Later that night, the doorbell rang. 

Entry #14

He was the one I pushed away, had to push away, because, so often, I lost myself in him. I’d taken years to discover my own truths, and yet in his eyes, in his laugh, in all the little ways he marked me, he was my undoing.

The way he'd spoon with me, his long fingers tracing patterns over whatever exposed skin he could find – a smooth shoulder, an exposed ear. The way his prick would push, ever so slightly into my ass, as if to say "Pardon me. I find you incredibly sexy. Do you mind if we fuck?" 

For days after leaving his arms, I could feel the spot on my neck where his teeth would bite down, never hard enough to mark, just a gentle keepsake until next time. I could feel the imprint of his hands on my hips as he grasped them to thrust into me, filling me perfectly. For hours, my pussy would clench around his ghost cock, still feeling him pulse and thrust. My nipples would harden at the thought of his soft mouth covering them, sucking and tugging them into tight peaks. And more often than not, I would slide fingers over soaked thongs, over my begging clit, and come with his name on my lips.

And I would forget the strength I owned, becoming weak and needy. With every orgasm he gave me, he stripped a part of me away. I wasn’t my own anymore – I was slowly becoming his whore.


We'll reveal who wrote what after the poll ends.

Thank you for playing, reading, voting, and just generally being lovely!