Wednesday, December 18, 2013


I can’t help being excited, because MERCY AND REDEMPTION will be available in paperback on December 23, 2013. Click here to pre-order now. Of course, if you can’t wait to read the story of Mercy and her two heroes, it’s already out in digital format at Ellora’s Cave, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Sony, and other electronic outlets. This is the second book in my MERCY series (the first one was PUNISHMENT AND MERCY). I've just turned in book #3 to my editor and will post further information as soon as I hear from her.

Regardless of which format you choose, here’s the blurb for MERCY AND REDEMPTION:

 ~~ ** ~~

Searching in an old cemetery for likely gravestones to illustrate her colonial cookbook, Mercy Howe meets two hunks who are tracing their ancestry and sparks fly. Literally.

When Mercy casually touches Seth and Adam, her vividly erotic vision involving all three of them feels like a memory, not a dream, and awakens long-dormant sexual urges. Their kisses are achingly familiar, and she welcomes each in turn into her body. Then she spends a no-holds-barred weekend with both men in her bed and discovers an intimacy—and a past—that blows her mind.

As memories resurface from three hundred years ago, Mercy will have to choose whether to relive the experiences from their joint past or forge a new bond with either Seth or Adam. Or both.


This excerpt from MERCY AND REDEMPTION features Mercy with Adam. It is a little more X-rated than the excerpt (with Seth) posted at the vendors' sites. But it's still not the hottest scene; just wait until Mercy gets both of them in her bed at the same time!

“Step out,” he ordered softly. She did, taking his proffered hand for balance, and he scooped up the dress to place it with care on a nearby dresser. He turned to study her for a long moment, at last blowing out a long breath, almost like a whistle. “Lady, what you do to my blood pressure. The sight of you in those scraps of lace makes me weak.”

They were mere scraps, she thought idly, the silk-and-lace bra artfully constructed to lift her breasts and offer cleavage, the panties with their black triangles and half-inch-wide elastic covering just enough to play peekaboo with total nudity. Having him standing before her in his Italian suit while she was thus exposed gave her a decadent thrill. She could feel her panties becoming saturated.

“Take your hair down.” It was a mere rasp, as though he had not nearly enough air to speak.

With a sultry smile, she raised her arms and began to pull out the myriad pins the hairdresser had inserted so artfully this morning. The mass of hair cascaded down to her shoulders as she withdrew pin after pin and placed them in his outstretched palm. In the back of her mind, this too felt like something she’d done before.

He laid the pile of pins on the bedside table, the metallic tinkle pleasant in the silence of their mutual haze. Then he lifted his arms to run his hands through the disheveled mass of her hair, rubbing the strands between his thumb and fingers.

“Don’t move.”

As if she could, with him devouring her like that with his eyes. As if she could move away from her Adam, from the joy and ecstasy she knew he could provide.

Lowering his arms from her hair, he stretched one hand out, touched her clavicle with one finger, traced a trail down the center of one breast. He deliberately scraped her nipple with a fingernail, then moved on a slight diagonal, down and down to the damp triangle of her sex, sliding the finger across her plump and aching lips and down her opposite thigh, knee, calf, ending at the tip of her stiletto.

On his knees, he looked up at her, his pupils overtaking the green of his eyes until only a thin line of color remained, lust painting his face as his finger retraced its trip until it reached her panties.

“There,” he said, gently probing between her legs. “What do you think I should do right…there?”

She shuddered. “Adam,” she said faintly. “You know what to do.”

He smiled a wolfish smile. “I surely do, darlin’, but I want to know what you want me to do.”

He’d done this before, she remembered, once he’d been sure of her love. He would tease her until she’d had to beg for what she wanted, had to say the words that had made her blush until her dying day, although speaking the words had heightened her lust rather than diminished it.

“Fuck me, Adam. I want you to fuck me. Hard. The way only you can.”

In a blur of seconds, Adam stripped naked, his own clothes tossed helter-skelter, then tugged the flimsy waistband of her panties and let them slide down and dangle from one foot. He tossed her onto the bed, shoes and bra still intact. Quickly he sheathed himself and mounted her, grabbing her by the thighs, shoving her legs up so her knees nearly touched her shoulders.

“You want hard, baby? You got it.” He plunged into her in one long, hard stroke, barely giving her a glimpse of his long, thick cock before it disappeared into her. True to his word, he thrust with the power of a jackhammer, stabbing in and out with a quick, harsh rhythm that brought her to a sudden, devastating climax.

“Adam!” In that instant of sheer ecstasy, with him still slamming into her, she saw all the years they’d shared, all the orgasms they’d given each other, the dreams that were really memories, the harsh conditions of living in the days before there was a United States of America.

She fainted.
~~ ** ~~

Wishing everyone a happy, healthy and peaceful Christmas. And happy reading!

~~ Cris Anson

Wednesday, December 4, 2013


For those who don’t know, Brimstone is a social networking event without parallel in the kink world. In addition to workshops, vendors and play spaces, specific and safe areas were set aside for social mixers, quiet spas, smokers, pony play, karaoke, and places to just hang out and have a cuppa with friends. All events, workshops and security were staffed by volunteers.

The Berkeley, photo by D_Lion
The event was sold out months before the start date. The Art Deco-style Berkeley Oceanfront Hotel in Asbury Park, NJ, was totally ours all weekend. To preclude any “vanillas” wandering in, you couldn’t even enter the front door without showing your numbered registration ticket. All weekend long, volunteers monitored the comings and goings of people to assure the group’s complete privacy.

Before even checking in at the hotel desk, you waited in line to sign the requisite legal documents, show your driver license or other I.D. and get a white, glow-in-the-dark Brimstone IV wristband and your badge. If you didn’t want to be included in photographs (after all, BDSM is still frowned on in some circles and folks don’t wish to be “outed”), you had an additional wristband (a red one) as well as a no-photo icon to stick on your badge. BTW, only staff photos were allowed. Anyone caught with a cell phone or camera got it confiscated. Those who depended on their iPhone for the time had to do without, sorry.

Nearly eighty workshops were offered. Many of those I wanted to attend conflicted with others. Tough choices to make. Here’s what I went with:

Two events especially for first-timers were “New N Nervous” and “Dungeonology 101”, both on Friday evening. I attended both, hoping to meet other newbie singles, but both seemed mostly peopled by couples taking the plunge together. I hope next year they have a mixer specifically for those who come alone and unpartnered. Still, I met some interesting people to spend time with, both there and in subsequent encounters, and I appreciate their generosity in sharing their knowledge.

Safer Sex Made Safely. I had never seen dental dams or female condoms, but the hostess instructed the group in no-nonsense terms, including demonstrations of all sorts of objects on her adorable “boy/kitten,” who wore the first (very flexible) strap-on I’d ever seen outside of the internet.

Futomomo tie, photo by Brennin
Ropes. I had three experiences as a rope bottom: in the Futomomo class (binding a bent leg to itself); practice time in the Bondage Lounge after hours (for both, I was on a floor mat); and a partial suspension class, which had me rigged to a massive structure with only one foot on the floor and my other limbs tied to various parts of the bars. In all cases it was a little unnerving but kind of cool to feel so helpless. BTW, this photo illustration was NOT taken at Brimstone.

Head, Neck, and Shoulder Massage Intensive. While a number of couples were present, enough singles attended to allow each of us to engage a partner and we had time to both give and receive newly learned techniques of massaging various muscles. This was a shirts-off workshop that should be four hours long (grin).

And speaking of massages, after my play scene in the dungeon on Sunday night, I availed myself of the free massage, thirty minutes of delicious relaxation in the Melting Pot Spa, courtesy of volunteers. And yes, I gladly added to the Tip Jar!

Oh, I mentioned the dungeon, didn't I? I was chained to a St. Andrew’s Cross via thick leather cuffs with palm rests and felt the delights of an expert Florentine flogger who also introduced me to the single-tail whip, a cane, and some other implements I couldn’t identify – my eyes were closed and I was in my own sensual world. There’s something… liberating… about being part of a kinky crowd in a dark dungeon with impacts matching the rhythms of the throbbing music, hearing cries of ecstasy all around you… adding your own cries…

Violet Wand Exploritorium …. Ahhhh. If you’ve been following my blog, you know my affinity for the Violet Wand. Alas, the demonstrations were primarily on the instructor’s partner, but we did get in a few zaps to ourselves and each other. One of the subs did get zapped by a diabolical device of metal pincers which first pinched then zapped her nipple to ear-shattering screams. But she stayed around for more. As to the glass attachments, our expert assured us they were unbreakable. When he attended a demonstration by the maker of said glass, he confided, she threw them across the room and none of them broke!

Hot Wax Play. Same thing. I wanted to be experimented on, but our demonstrator brought his own partner/slave and dripped a fascinating series of designs on her breasts and belly. I was captivated by the way she kept giggling and wiggling during the treatment. Then he used a humongous knife to scrape every bit off. It was wondrous to behold, especially the trust between the partners.

Kinky Karaoke. Sunday night’s event was cool. One couple wrote their own lyrics to well-known songs, such as Cher’s “I Got You, Slave” and several others I don’t remember because I was too fascinated (I know, I'm using that word a lot) to write them down. I can just hear next year’s entry, maybe one to the tune of Jingle Bells: “Single-tails, single-tails, whipping all the way…”  It was laugh-a-minute time.

BrimstoneIV booklet, photo by Cris Anson
Food. This was tricky. Saturday and Sunday a PJ coffee breakfast social enabled us to scarf up bagels with cream cheese and other noshes. To those who arrived Thanksgiving Day evening, a side event at McLoone’s Restaurant offered a lush buffet. An egg cream social with tidbits on Friday night and a midnight pizza buffet on Saturday chased away some hungers. From 5 to 7 p.m. each day no events were scheduled so folks could go elsewhere for dinner (no way could the restaurant accommodate even half the attendees). Classes were held from 11 a.m. to 10:30 p.m. with no lunch break so it was smart to pack one’s pockets with snacks or protein bars. I saw experienced Brimstone-goers hauling their own microwaves and fridges with their luggage. The dungeon and other play lounges stayed open until 2 a.m.

Heaven’s Gate Sex Suite. This was on the top floor, a suite of rooms dedicated to those who wanted to engage in group sex. I had inquired about being a “lube girl”, a volunteer who distributed condoms and lubes and whatever else the participants needed. After all, I had learned all about “Safer Sex” early on. But (I’m ashamed to admit) I chickened out at the last minute. I actually exited the elevator on that floor, took a deep breath … and went back downstairs. I can only attribute that momentary lapse to the fact that it was midnight and I had been fighting a bug all weekend and was feeling tired and achy and… hell, I was probably just too prudish to follow up. I know, there are those who don’t believe me.

The Freecycle. An exchange of unneeded kinky items. I had dropped off a half-dozen erotic romance anthologies to the table and, to my delight, discovered a pair of Velcro bondage cuffs which I’m hoping to put to good use in the future. There was also a drop-off table for “I love it in the Can” for distribution to a food bank.

One of the most fascinating things, for me, was to talk to “others”. Those who were gender-flexible or trans-gender or in some way different from the way they were born. Though rigid types might label them freaks, to hear their struggles for identity tugged at the heart and one can only hope that people will be more welcoming to all forms of self-identification. I saw six-foot males in dresses and makeup and looking stunning; “butch” women in masculine attire and attitude; “littles” who hugged their stuffed animals and rode around the promenade on adult-sized tricycles; folks in diapers and baby bonnets; people prancing around like ponies and hauling carriages behind them. Brimstone welcomed all of them, embraced them, made them feel comfortable and human. If only the real world were so kind!

Oh, the “Ice” part of this blog’s title? The hotel is old and venerable, meaning if you get anywhere near the windows, it’s c-c-c-cold! Even with the room temperature set at 75 degrees, it was chilly.

But anywhere else? Yeah, baby. It was Brimstone HOT!

~~ Cris Anson