New Website!

I've got a new website, and it's beautiful! It was built for me by the fabulous Angela Tavares at Here Booky Booky, and I couldn't be happier with what Angela has done.

I'm very excited for the possibilities at the new site. It's self-hosted, so I can post things without fear of sudden changes to blogger's terms of service and the like. I've got a cool podcast up there already, and I plan to post video of me reading excerpts as well.

That means, though, that I'm going to slowly phase out this blog. For the next several months, I'll be double-posting, both here and at the new blog, because I'm lazy myself about changing bookmarks and I don't want to leave anyone behind. Eventually, though, updates will only go to the new site. I'll post again when I'm preparing to make the change final. I won't maintain my publications list here, so if you want to see my latest stuff, please head over to the new site.

In the meantime, please change your bookmarks to annabetherotica.com

<3

Crunches

This Monday, Rachel Kramer Bussel's newest anthology of hot short-shorts released! The Big Book of Submission is a spiritual successor to The Big Book of Orgasms, except this time Bussel has focused on BDSM from the submissive's perspective.

My story, "Crunches," is about a personal trainer who takes control of more than her client's workout routine. Here's a clip:

One day, after she’d put me on the adductor machine and had me squeeze my thighs together against heavy resistance, I gave in to the urge that had been building. I rushed home, ripped off my sweats, and jumped into the bathtub with my vibrator in hand. I held myself in a half crunch (careful to pretend I had an orange under my chin for proper neck position), and stayed that way until my pulse pounded like a jackhammer and it felt like every drop of blood in my body had gathered just below my tightened abs. I shoved the vibrator deep inside my cunt, switched it to maximum intensity, then clenched every muscle in my body until I came. As I gasped and shuddered, hot water splashing around my shaking thighs, I could have sworn I heard Shira’s voice, counting off the spasms.

You can pick up The Big Book of Submission at lots of great bookstores—there's a good collection of links here.

The Moment Things Went Awry

Today, at The Grip, I've got a post up called, "What I Did Before I Knew Better." We're remembering the 90s for the current topic cycle, and I wound up talking about the sexual identity I was forming, and how I wound up betraying that as the decade ended.

In all my confusion, when I ask myself what I honestly want, or what my identity actually is, it doesn't hurt to think back to how I acted then, when I didn't yet know better than to be myself.

You can read the whole post here.

Evelyn Gets Ready

Last night, a great thing happened: I received my contributor copies of She Who Must Be Obeyed: Femme Dominant Erotica, D.L. King's latest anthology. Basically, anything I planned to do last evening got put on hold. No gym. No extra writing.

I'm not always so hot and ready for an anthology. Was it that cover (reminiscent to me of a kind of lost hippie girl that I'm, sadly, never going to get to meet)? Or was it the memory of how hot I got writing my story, and the expectation of 20 more like it...? Yeah, probably the second one—let's be honest. This concept is a rare and special one, and it's really up my alley, and it's not every day that there's a whole book about something so wonderfully... specific.

I petted the book all evening and even managed to read it. Maybe I petted myself, too.

OK, now I'm going to stop reminiscing and give you an excerpt. I'm going to post the opening of my story, "Evelyn Gets Ready." Often, when I write, I've got a big philosophical idea—not so much here. This time, I was remembering how turned on I got the first time I went to a BDSM con and attended a workshop on "objectification," without quite knowing what that meant (Thank you for enlightening me, Percy). I remember sitting on the floor at my partner's feet, shifting uncomfortably, stunned in that way that happens when you discover you're really into something you didn't know you were into.

Writing this story extended that thrill and horror of discovery. Last year, I had quite a crisis as far as my sexual identity. It would take a long, long time to explain all the ins and outs of it, but it was both delicious and difficult, and there are a few things I wrote in the thick of it that still carry those feelings for me. This is one of them. Heated Leather Lover is another. Untouched is a third.

But let me not distract myself. Today, I'm here to celebrate She Who Must Be Obeyed. (And how much I love that the title actually includes the period. Statement made. Full stop.) Without further ado, here's the intro to "Evelyn Gets Ready":

When Evelyn gets ready, it takes an army. Saturday night, the first time I was included in her entourage, she left instructions for me with Beau, her "concierge" and date for the evening. Dressed in a pinstripe suit, Beau met me at the front door of Evelyn's modest but lavishly decorated two-story home. "The safeword tonight is 'red.' She wants you to be the makeup table."

"A table?" I echoed, blinking. I'd been ready for "foot servicer" or even "mirror holder," but being an inanimate object hadn't really been on my personal menu.

I glanced down at my own suit, thinking about how carefully I'd gotten ready, slicking down my hair, packing something special for Evelyn. The table idea made me feel a little affronted. Beau was handsome, sure, with sweet, baby-blue eyes that promised plenty of favors, but I couldn't help sizing her up. I clocked more hours at the gym, had a couple inches on her, and felt a lot of confidence in my ability to handle a cock. I managed not to ask why she got to be the date while I got stuck being the table, but just barely.

Beau clapped me on the arm. "You're a strapping young butch with a broad back, Al. She wants to see how strong you are." I didn't miss the way Beau said she—the word carried the full force of Evelyn's fearsome femininity, but was also laced with enough proprietary intimacy to rub in the fact that Beau, not I, would play the part of Boi Charming that evening.

I ducked my head and nodded. I may not have known how exactly I could be a makeup table, but I wasn't about to lose my shot at being part of Evelyn's preparation. The club night we were supposedly getting her ready for was only a victory lap for her—everyone knew the real party was right here, right now.

"Rita will take care of setting you up," Beau told me before leaving the foyer, straightening her cravat as she went.

Rita showed up seconds later, an elegant, curvaceous brunette who would have made my mouth water if not for the thought of Evelyn. She led me to a room with no furnishings aside from a floor lamp, a thick, soft carpet, velvet wall hangings, for God's sake, and gold and crystal chandeliers. I hadn't thought real people actually liked stuff like that.

Catching my glance toward the lamp, Rita grinned, giving me a glimpse of the white teeth and delicately pointed tongue behind her full, pinup-red lips. "Be glad she didn't cast you as the lamp tonight." Her appraising stare caressed up and down each of my arms. I succumbed to ego and flexed under her scrutiny. "You might have the muscle to hold your arms out straight for her for three or so hours, but as a table, you'll be closer to the action."

Rita stepped toward me, and her perfume flooded my senses with the burnt-sugar bite of my favorite liqueur-laced dessert. She landed one impossibly soft hand on my arm. The more she looked at me with her big, brown eyes, which were passionate and warm despite the metallic colors that glittered on her face around them, the more I started to think that maybe Evelyn wasn't the main event after all. Rita was getting me achingly hard, making me constantly aware of my favorite cock lying against my thigh.

As if sensing the turn my thoughts had taken, Rita rewarded me with another slow, sly smile. Her fingers tightened on my arm. "As the table, you'll have to be good for me, because I'm the makeup girl."

The book is on sale now in paperback, and I'm told a Kindle edition is on the way in August.

In the meantime, if you can't get enough of this book, D.L. King has started a tumblr for it. You can read plenty of excerpts there.

MakerSex Resources

I've gotten a few requests for resources people can use to research what I'm looking for in my MakerSex anthology. Good news! I've got you covered!

I've got you so covered that I've made a whole Tumblr about it, called, unoriginally, MakerSex!

I've also made a post of basic resources to get you started. I hope you find those links as fascinating as I do. And, seriously, watch the Tumblr, because I'm hoping to put a lot of inspiring stuff there (and when the book actually comes out, I'll be posting excerpts from the, um, results of that inspiration...).

Call for Submissions: MakerSex

I'm editing an anthology for Circlet Press!!!! And I would love for you to write a story for me!

Here's the call:

MakerSex: Erotic Stories of Geeks, Hackers, and DIY Projects
Edited by Annabeth Leong

Deadline: September 30, 2014

Maker culture mashes together technological enthusiasm and a DIY punk ethos. It is about learning and doing, shaping the world, getting around the system, and making strange new things because you can. Skill is powerful, subversive—and sexy. Send me stories infused with the scent of hot solder, the flash of fabric sewn with conductive thread, the thrill of ingenuity, and the hotness of all things becoming possible. Your DIY stories could be near-future science fiction or cyberpunk, but they could also take place in far-flung galaxies, in the garage of a ham-radio enthusiast, or in the shadowy workshops of hacker mages. I want to believe in the plausibility of your DIY world, but that doesn’t require a technical manual. Give me a story that’s as much driven by hot sex and changing characters as it is by compelling projects and technical acumen.

All sexualities and gender expressions are welcome. Kink is welcome. I would particularly love to see worlds that recognize people of color and people of all genders as participating in Maker culture.

This e-book anthology is being edited by Annabeth Leong for Circlet Press. Annabeth has written stories for many anthologies including Circlet’s Like A Trip Through the Mirror, Like a Chill Down Your Spine, and What Lies Beneath.

For submission details, read on.

Length: Preferred length for this book is approximately 3000 to 6000 words, but we will consider the range from 2000 to 8,000 words. Query if you have something outside those ranges that seems otherwise fitting.

How to Submit: All submissions must be made via email to Annabeth Leong, editor, at the following email address: Annabeth.Circlet@outlook.com

Submissions sent to other addresses/other editors at Circlet Press will not be considered. Standard manuscript formatting rules apply even though sending as an attachment (MS Word .doc or .rtf preferred). Please note that this means your name, address, and email contact must appear on the manuscript itself and not simply in your email message. (If you’re not sure what a standard short story submission format should look like, Google is your friend.)

No simultaneous submissions (that is, don’t also send your story elsewhere at the same time, and don’t send it to multiple Circlet editors, either), and no multiple submissions to the same book. One story per author per anthology, thanks.

All stories must include explicit sexuality and erotic focus. Romantic content is welcome, but in a short story remember to keep the details on the action and its effects on the main character’s internal point of view. We favor a strong, singular narrative voice (no ‘head hopping’ or swapping between different character’s points of view within a scene). For more details on our editorial preferences, see the general submission guidelines on circlet.com. We highly recommend reading the guidelines, especially the “do not send” list, to increase your chances of sending us something we’ll love. Try to avoid cliches. Fresh and direct language is preferred to overly euphemistic. Sex-positive, please, no rape/nonconsensuality/necrophilia or other purposefully gross topics. We do not publish horror.

Originals only, no reprints. We purchase first rights for inclusion in the ebook anthology for $25, with the additional rights to a print edition later which would also be paid $25 if a print edition happens. Authors retain the rights to the individual stories; Circlet exercises rights to the anthology as a whole.

Are you tempted? Give in! I can't wait to hear from you!

Photo: Harland Quarrington/MOD [see http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Computer_Circuit_Board_MOD_45153623.jpg for license], via Wikimedia Commons

Icarus Takes Flight

Today, Forbidden Fiction released Taking Flight, an anthology of erotic stories focused on creatures with wings. Here's the blurb:

Desire can move the poorest man to take wing.
Curiosity can entice the smallest fairy to greatness.
Passion can drive the purest angel to fall.
And then there's the devils...

Flight has captured the human imagination for centuries, inspiring poets and lovers alike to greater heights. Is the exhilaration of soaring better even than sex? Is the ecstasy of a lover's touch worth more than all the feathers in heaven? Is one moment of passion on the wind worth the risk of a lifetime?

Here are seven erotic flights of fantasy, from gritty dystopian futures and surreal urban discoveries to mythic romances and fleeting moments of enchantment.

Includes:

Wingman by Catherine King
Valkyrie's Child by Ann Gimpel
Underneath It All by Kailin Morgan
Devilish Trick by L.D. Durham
Falling Into Her Arms by Laylah Hunter
Icarus Bleeds by Annabeth Leong
Elf Esteem by Nobilis Reed

You'll see that Taking Flight includes my novella, Icarus Bleeds, which I still think is one of the best things I've written. Here's the blurb:

Icarus, a man on the run, dreams of wings, and of taking flight like the surgically modified rich and famous of Central City. The hacker who harbors him will do anything to keep him, including paying for the dangerous operation in a back alley chop shop. Neither can imagine how much the wings will truly cost. (M/M)

And here's an excerpt:

“Are you scared?”

“No.”

“Open up for me.”

I pressed one finger in, and his body went stiff in my grip. He drew a shaking breath and writhed to get away, suddenly fighting me where before there had been only acquiescence. My hand froze, then eased out of him. He lay gasping in my arms.

“OK, maybe I am scared.”

I managed some compassion for the first time in a while. “Do you want to stop?”

He stayed silent for so long that I was tempted to take the lack of words as tacit permission and start playing with his ass again. I forced myself to wait, clenching my fingers to keep them still.

“No,” he said finally, though I had to strain to hear him. “I want you.”

“You do?” I could not keep the shock out of my voice. In response, he only nodded, keeping his face turned away. “Why?”

He shrugged, pulled my hand back toward his ass. I wanted to roll him onto his belly and just fuck him. Hard, triumphant victory filled my chest. But his expression of desire had destroyed my appetite for cruelty. I rubbed his back as my finger resumed teasing his hole, as gently and sweetly as I could. “Tell me about a beautiful thing,” I said. “Something that you think about that might help you relax.”

“Wings.” I felt his smile where his face pressed against my chest, but also in the sigh that passed over his body along with the word, leaving Icarus transformed in its wake.

“The wings of birds? Airplanes?” His ass had changed so much that it was almost sucking my finger in. I wanted to keep him talking.

“The wings of men,” Icarus sighed. “In the Central City, within the walls, you see them flying all hours of day and night. You know they’re not angels, but they look like they are. That’s not even the point, though. They go so high. It looks like almost to the sun. And it’s got to all look so different up there. You’ve got to feel free.”

I’d gotten two fingers into his ass by then, and had my other hand stroking his cock and balls. He shuddered with pleasure now as I worked my fingers in and out of him and dropped kisses along his neck and shoulder blade. I got a little distracted trying to place his accent. He had the flat, universal sound most of us have picked up from the Internet, but something changed when he mentioned Central City. I didn’t think there were any black people in the upper echelon. As a courtesy, I never looked into my clients’ histories while I obscured them, but now I wondered who he was.

A little whimper brought me back to more pressing concerns, and the need to help him stay inside his fantasy. “You ever seen one of those angel-men on the ground?”

A nod. “I used to climb up to the top of the Skywalk. They like to land up there. The view is nice, and there’s a good restaurant. That restaurant has towels for them, to wipe off the condensation they pick up from flying through the clouds.”

I grunted. “To wipe off sweat, more likely.”

“No!” The innocent wonder in his voice made me feel old. “Their faces have little frost crystals on them. Their wings are pale because the blood shrinks back in the skin under the feathers when it gets cold. When they warm up again, the wings get a rosy glow from the blood returning."

“You know a lot about this.” I slid a third finger into him. At this rate, he’d be ready for my cock sooner than I could have hoped.

“The operation is too expensive.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” I shouldn’t have said that, but my pulsing cock had destroyed my thinking by then. I needed inside him, and those words seemed like my golden key. I twisted my fingers, stroking the inner walls of his ass, while I pumped his cock with my other hand. Icarus moaned and pressed back toward me.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing is impossible, kid. Outside of Central City, we learn to take what we want.”

“You really think so?”

“Hell, yes, I think so.”

He closed his eyes, obviously caught in his dream of flight. His whole body softened, except for his cock, which had gotten so hard it was quivering. I put on the rubber, lubed up my cock, and took a chance, lining up the head and holding my breath as I eased my way in.

Icarus made a little sound in the back of his throat. “You think I could—”

“Get wings yourself. Yeah.” I spoke between gritted teeth, probing ever deeper with my cock. “I can just see how pretty those wings would look on you, spread out to either side of your hot little body, feathers brushing this round ass of yours, your muscles rippling while you pump those wings up and down.”

I was fully fucking him by then, gaining confidence in the power of these magical words I had discovered. His ass welcomed my every stroke. Beneath me, he whimpered and arched his back, taking me in to the hilt. “Yes,” he whispered. I wasn’t sure if he approved of my cock or my words, but I didn’t really care.

I grabbed his shoulders. “You could fly up past the buildings. Up even higher than the clouds.” I fucked him so hard my words came out as gasps. “Big, wide wings. Tall wings. Whatever color feathers you want.”

His ass, for all of its compliance, massaged my cock with such a tight and persistent grip that every inch I sank into Icarus sent nerves tingling down to my feet and up to my head. I was seconds from orgasm, babbling incoherently by then, spewing out whatever wing-related words I could think of. A man will say some stupid things when his cock is happy, especially when it hasn’t been for a long time.

“You find somewhere to get wings,” I panted. “I’ll take you there and help you check them out. Hell, I could even pay for it.”

You can pick up the Taking Flight anthology at Forbidden Fiction's catalog site, All Romance E-books, and more! There's also a print edition on the way!