Thursday, July 9, 2015


After a holiday without computer access, I returned to discover some great news. Two of my books were nominated for the Golden Flogger Award, and both have both been announced as finalists.

What is the Golden Flogger Award, you ask?

It’s the premier contest for books in the BDSM genre, inaugurated by Dr. Charley Ferrer in conjunction with her BDSM Writers Con, to be held this year in New York August 20-23. Readers of BDSM were invited to nominate their favorite BDSM books. Winners will be announced Sunday, August 23, at the Book Fair. I'll write more about the Con in a future blog.

But for now, the Golden Flogger Awards.

This contest garnered almost 200 nominations. Categories included BDSM Light, BDSM Advanced, BDSM Dark Erotica, Novellas, Dominant Men and Submissive Women, LGBT, Menage, Paranormal, Non-Fiction, and Anthology.

My novel REDEMPTION AND GLORY is a finalist in the BDSM Advanced category. Here’s the blurb:

Bored with all the groupies who provide him with anonymous sex, famous sculptor Adam accepts the offer to lurk behind a voyeur screen at his agent’s BDSM club. Watching the magnificent Mistress Glory in action, Adam is so smitten that he can’t decide if he wants to tame her or kneel before her.

When Davinia helps her business partner at a book signing, the man of her wet dreams, a magazine’s “Most Eligible Bachelor,” comes by to help publicize the event. Instant lust turns to chagrin when he addresses her as Mistress Glory.

As the two novices to Dominance and submission explore what turns them on in this exciting new world, the journey takes explosive twists and turns. Add the sexy agent and his slave, and anything can—and does—happen.

In the Novella category, AARON’S JEWEL was selected as a finalist. The blurb:

Finding a position as corporate legal counsel in one’s middle-50s after being downsized sucks, so Aaron haunts his local dungeon to soothe his frustration. Feeling squeezed by work and family obligations, ghost writer Julia turns up at the same dungeon to do “research” for her current assignment.

The moment they meet, the dominant in Aaron recognizes the submissive in Julia.

He peels away the layers of her shyness along with her clothes. He gets her—his Jewel—naked and writhing against the cross and over the spanking bench. And she revels in his dominance and tutelage, discovering her wanton self whether tied to a bed in private or blindfolded and the target of many hands in public.

But real life isn’t all adult fun and games. Not when grown children, parents, careers and aging bodies conspire to challenge their burgeoning relationship.

The First Annual BDSM WritersCon Anthology 2014 was nominated by several people and selected by the judges as a finalist. I have a short piece, “When Restraint Sets You Free”, in it. It cannot be chosen the winner because of its association with the conference, but the contest organizers wanted to acknowledge its finalist status.

I hope you can join us, whether as a reader or an author, at this year’s BDSM Writers Con. Check it out here

Enjoy your summer! And be sure to spend some leisure time reading the finalists in BDSM’s Golden Flogger Awards.

~~ Cris Anson

Wednesday, April 1, 2015

Profound Slave Owner Experience

I’m happy to host an extraordinary guest blogger today. Mistress Thick has been practicing the FemDom lifestyle for nine years, and as a Professional Domme for four. Based out of New York, she is a porn actress who has appeared on TV, radio and video. She formerly managed the Exxxotica Dungeon under Mistress C, the Creative producer of the Exxxotica "Dungeon Experience".

Well, I decided to write this blog from an experience that I had the pleasure of having this past weekend. It is no surprise that I am a devout Black Female Supremacist. Now some of you may not believe in these ideals, but that’s what makes this world a great place, I can be me and you can be you.

I have an owned and collared slave that lives in Bristol, PA whom I visit weekly and commandeer his home. I normally walk pet through his neighborhood on leash and he proudly follows his master. Saturday I decided to have some public play outside his neighborhood. So pet had a wonderful idea, and suggested a walk along the Delaware River. Now as we are walking and I am viewing the landscape in 2015, I could not help but to be reminded that just a few hundred years ago, these same waters were used by Harriet Tubman, Underground Railroad conductor, to help slaves escape to freedom in the North. These same shores where I am walking my slave freely is where, hundreds of years ago, many found freedom for the first time in their lives, escaping a life of forced slavery.
Harriet Tubman
I felt even more so empowered knowing that now, standing here in 2015, a proud black slave owner of white slaves is being worshiped at the very same spot where some of my ancestors were released from the shackles of their involuntary life of slavery. I have never felt so proud to be a black woman than at that very moment, and could not help but to think of how proud those ancestors would be today, to see my slave kneeling before me voluntarily in chains and collar! To know he gives his life to me willingly, uncoerced, and he lives to do this for his Ebony Goddess.

So I was inspired to document the moment and capture it for social media and now I will post the pictures to this blog. I’m sure there will be many that cannot relate to the emotions that I myself experience as a black domme whose ancestors were enslaved in this country, how surreal and profound this is and could be to someone like myself! It’s amazing how a way of lifestyle that I live today was used in a negative way to kill, hurt, and maim and entire race of people. Makes me wonder in 400 years how will my actions be interpreted!

Note from Cris:
~~ Many thanks to Mistress Thick for sharing these profound thoughts. Please feel free to leave your comments for her.


Friday, January 30, 2015


It’s hard to believe it’s been ten years. On January 30, 2005, my first erotic romance was published.

Original 2005 cover
Ellora’s Cave was the 800-pound elephant in those days, the upstart little publisher who showed New York that erotic romance was a force to be reckoned with. DANCE OF THE SEVEN VEILS sold like wildfire and I was thrilled that after 15 years of trying, I was an overnight success.

I still remember the tears that filled my eyes when I first beheld my cover. Black and white torso wrapped in a diaphanous veil, with the stark red of the title. Pow, what an impact it had on me. Ten years later, its cover updated by EC’s fabulous art department, it still has brisk sales.

It’s a coming-of-age story of a 39-year-old divorcee who finally realizes she is a sexual being. The words fell out of me because I was able to let my mind run rampant without reining in the vivid, no-holds-barred writing, the flinging wide of bedroom doors, the four-letter words that New York editors had frowned on.

In fact, Ellora’s Cave gave it an award for the best first sentence of any book they’d published that year. It starts out:

“…and remember, if you see a naked man handcuffed to the ring in the ceiling, it’s because he wants to be there.”

So I thought it might be fun to revisit Lyssa and see how she started out so timidly to discover her own sexuality. In this excerpt, her best friend, Kat, has taken her to a sex club masquerade.

Current cover
~~ ** ~~
Excerpt from DANCE OF THE SEVEN VEILS ©Cris Anson

“Okay,” Lyssa said softly. “Let’s go.”

She reached out, but before her slightly trembling fingers touched the brass knocker, the solid oak door swung open and a tuxedo-clad giant bowed them inside.

Bouncer, was Lyssa’s first thought. It somehow eased her mind. All the members of this club had been rigorously screened, Kat promised, for physical, financial, and emotional health. Guests had to be approved in advance by a screening committee. Lyssa hadn’t even known Kat belonged to such an exclusive club until she’d been invited to tonight’s soiree. But, she supposed, with Kat’s fine arts gallery situated on upscale Lancaster Avenue in nearby Bryn Mawr, she came in contact with many wealthy clients and browsers.

A never-married free spirit with a long string of lovers, Kat turned heads with her flippant attitude, flamboyant auburn hair, whiskey-colored eyes and funky wardrobe. Lyssa herself leaned toward the look of understated elegance she’d grown up watching her mother wear.

Not that any of it mattered tonight, Lyssa thought wryly. Her own scanty costume, that Kat had autocratically said she would supply, couldn’t be worn on the streets of downtown Philadelphia. 

The giant relieved them of their black capes and gestured to a room beyond an exquisitely carved archway reminiscent of a Roman aqueduct. The drawing room was softly lit by wall sconces and dozens of candles clustered on the massive marble mantel, imparting a rosy hue to everyone’s skin.

The seven veils of her costume swirled sensuously around her, stroking her bare legs, as Lyssa slipped into the room. She was conscious of the slight swaying of her unfettered breasts beneath the nearly translucent silk. Kat had already disappeared into the darker recesses of the room. She was on her own.

On one of the sofas, she noticed a man settling down on his back. He wore only a loincloth and bear-tooth necklace. Red ochre stripes decorated the exposed part of his face. Another Indian, this one in full feathered headdress and a long, shapeless leather smock laced up from neckline to hips, pulled the reclining man’s arms over his head, tied his wrists with rawhide strips, then fastened them to a table leg.

As Lyssa watched, transfixed, the Indian chief began unlacing the smock, then slid it slowly off his—no, she realized—her shoulders and down to her feet. Unabashedly naked, with a feather tattoo on the outer curve of her right breast, she pulled one, then two feathers from her headdress and began to stroke the bound brave’s skin. Slowly up, down, up, down his tanned body, from neck to ankles and back again, until Lyssa could see him grit his teeth in a grimace of arousal that could not be assuaged. The squaw leaned forward, large breasts hovering tantalizingly above his face. A distinctive lump lifted the loincloth, growing larger with each languid stroke of the feathers.

Lyssa gulped. She could feel her breath coming more heavily. What would it be like to be so totally dominated by someone arousing you, teasing you, being captive but knowing that you wouldn’t be hurt, someone bringing you to the brink but not knowing when release would come?

She shivered deliciously and turned away.

And bumped into a red-haired, red-bearded man wearing nothing but a kilt. The wiry hair on his wide chest brushed against her bare arms and she shivered again. That must be how the feathers felt, she thought, surprising herself. She looked up into the shadowy depths of his eyes behind the mask, deep blue like a loch on a clear day. And saw unmistakable desire flare through them.

“Ah, lassie, may I touch you?” he asked with a hint of a Scottish burr.

“You can,” she breathed. Where had that quick acquiescence come from? He’s a stranger!
Slowly he raised his hands to her shoulders and with a butterfly touch stroked her arms down to her wrists, then back up again. The sensations rocking through Lyssa astounded her. Here she was, in a roomful of strangers, allowing a nearly naked stranger to fondle her, and she didn’t want to move!

~~ ** ~~

I hope you enjoyed this little look back. You can purchase DANCE OF THE SEVEN VEILS and all my books at Ellora’s Cave, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and other online booksellers.

~~ Cris Anson