Review -- Women in Lust

These lusty women enjoy a rough and wild romp. Edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel, the anthology Women in Lust plunges headfirst into spanking, multiple partners and switching genders. For me with erotic writing, it’s not about the gender of the individual but the overall person, and I enjoy anthologies that embrace this diversity.

The collections kicks off with Portia Da Costa’s “Naughty Thoughts,” which immediately asks, “Are you having those naughty thoughts again, you bad girl?” Oh, yes, baby … I am! And it only gets better from there. Aimee Pearl’s “Her, Him and Them” tells the storyline right in the title, but in a much better way.

Justine Elyot’s “The Hard Way” proves to be pure fun. When Detective Blake gets transferred, that gives an in to some personal interaction with lawyer Ellen (You know those sex harassment laws against intermixing business and pleasure.). All that charged sexual energy built up over time, until that opening outlet. And boy, do they do some hot role playing.

You know how incestuous the erotic romance industry is? After a fair amount of time, we all end up in bed together, err, I mean in an anthology together. Justine visited previously and talked about her short story in the Seducing the Myth anthology, for more information, check out her post, Which Myth)   


Finally, we must highlight “Hot for Teacher,” which was written by the anthology’s editor, Rachel Kramer Bussel. The sizzling tale explores a divorcee’s return to college, and her crush for her younger professor. When he invites her to his office hours to crunch some numbers, she shows up, sans panties. Let’s just say that it’s a well-lived fantasy come true.

Looking for a little bit of Lust to keep you warm this winter? Check it out.

Women in Lust blurb:

Lust is urgent, overpowering, and potent. While in real life readers may not always act every time desire calls, in fiction, they can abandon the safety of propriety to seek out lust and sex wherever they find them. The characters in Women in Lust may vary in the objects of their lust, and how they go about acting on it, but what connects them is that pure impulse for a lover. Sometimes he is someone she knows well, a boyfriend or a husband; in other stories, he is a stranger, and is desirable precisely because he represents the unknown. Whether watching a lover playing guitar, going out for a smoke or simply engaging in a chance encounter, these women seize the opportunities presented to them, and savor the lovers who teach them about themselves, helping open them up to new sensual possibilities.

Contributors

“Naughty Thoughts” Portia Da Costa

“Guess” Charlotte Stein

“Her, Him, and Them” Aimee Pearl


“Bayou” Clancy Nacht


“Smoke” Elizabeth Coldwell


“Bite Me” Lucy Hughes


“Ride a Cowboy” Del Carmen


“Queen of Sheba” Jen Cross


“Hot for Teacher” Rachel Kramer Bussel


“Unbidden” Brandy Fox


“Something to Ruin” Amelia Thornton


“Guitar Hero” Kin Fallon


“Ode to a Masturbator” Aimee Herman


“Orchid” Jacqueline Applebee


“Cherry Blossom” Kayar Silkenvoice


“Rain” Olivia Archer


“The Hard Way” Justine Elyot


“Strapped” K.D. Grace


“Beneath My Skin” Shanna Germain


“Comfort Food” Donna George Storey

For more information, visit Women in Lust

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Which Myth with Justine Elyot ...

Hi, I'm Justine Elyot and I'm here to talk about my story in Lucy Felthouse's anthology Seducing the Myth.

When Lucy put out the call, I was a little overwhelmed at first. So many juicy myths to be perverted – how could I possibly pick just one? Well, I'm half English and half Irish, living in the West Country, so pondering on that led me to a myth that fits me in terms of nationality – the Celtic legend of Tristan and Iseult.

I first became familiar with this myth in its more well-known guise of Tristan and Isolde through the Wagner opera. In fact, I didn't really cotton on that it was a Celtic myth until later (the only myths we learned about at school were of the Greek and Roman variety). I wasn't even sure that Tristan and Iseult was the same story at first.

Eventually my fog of ignorance cleared and I determined to write an updated fragment of the story focusing on Iseult's wedding to Mark. The situation was sexy yet poignant – and you can't help sympathising with the characters because it's not their fault! The potion made them do it.

Here’s a snippet:

On the way to the river, I think of our journey to Cornwall, Tris and I, in the back of one of Mark's limousines. We hadn't been able to touch each other for fear of what the chauffeur might repeat. Five hours, sitting beside each other, with the heat of our desire burning the air between us, hands fidgeting, eyes twitching, thighs and the inbetween spaces growing pointlessly moist.

We chatted stiltedly, all the time hearing the words behind the words.

"The cake has five tiers but you should see the icing; it's hard as a rock."

Like you, under those trousers. God, I want you.

"Wedding cake icing always is. I suppose it's nice inside."

Inside, inside your thighs, where it's always warm and melting-soft.

"I made them leave out the candied peel and put cherries instead."

Cherries, ripe and red, like my clit, red and ripe under your tongue.

"I like those sticky cherries. I like anything fruity."

I want your fruit, I want to taste you now.

How we made it to Cornwall without fucking like sex was about to be banned on the expensive leather defeats my understanding. It was torture. All the way, I thought we would get out at Castle Dor and sneak in a side entrance, find an empty room where I could lie back and open my legs, have him, bring him inside me, knock the edge off that endless lust, if only temporarily. But Mark was waiting for us and he met us on the gravel drive and I had a long, long wait over cocktails and cheery chatter before I could be alone with my vibrator.

I'd applied it to my aching cunt thinking of Tristan's crinkling eyes and lascivious smile, his questing hands and his thrusting pelvis, the way he turned his rage and despair at our hopeless situation, alchemically, to lust.

He is under a weeping willow. I wonder if the willow weeps for us.

"Mark will wonder where you are," I greet him, but his only answer is to lunge for my wrist and bring me close, so that he bends over me in imitation of the willow branches, arms holding me where I belong.

"This has to end," I say, but I know even as I say it that I don't mean it, and my lips speak the truth, pressing to his, showing him what I can't disguise.

Our tongues say it loud. This can never end. They intertwine, push and force the confession while our lips blister.

"What has to end?" whispers Tristan. "Kissing?"

"I have to marry him."

"I know. But this can't end. It isn't a thing we can pull out of ourselves and discard. It's part of us, Izz. You know that. It's in our blood."