No Good Deed

"No Good Deed" originally appeared in the collection "Please, Sir."

One reader review says, "No Good Deed by Alison Tyler was a fun tale of a brat with a little enjoyable twist at the end."

Another states, "Alison Tyler’s *No Good Deed* is a mouth-wateringly hot punishment scenario."

Adults only. Spanking, handcuffs, BDSM.

Excerpt:
Only later in the night, when she’d been talking to another man by the bar, had Killian come up behind her.

“Ready to go, baby?”

Like they were a couple. Intrigued, she’d followed his lead, slid on her coat, let him take her by the wrist. She’d been his ever since.

He’d led her to the car, pressed her up against the hood, got his mouth right close to her ear and whispered, “You flirting?”

The hot sensation of guilt flooded through her. Had she been? Well, yeah. But she’d come to the party a single. Single people could flirt. She tried to explain this to Killian, but the look in his eyes stopped her. Finally, stammering, she’d said, “Yes, I was.”

“Honesty’s always the best policy with me, kid,” he said, nodding. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to give you a spanking.”


By Alison Tyler
Photo: riendo

The Lindy Shark

"The Lindy Shark" appeared in BWE 2002, The Mammoth Book of Erotica volume 2, and Exposed. In a review of BWE 02, Rachel Kramer Bussel wrote, "'The Lindy Shark'" by Alison Tyler also touch(es) on bitterness and anger, mixed with passion."

Felice Newman wrote, "Alison Tyler is a pioneer of a kind of erotica that's at once arousing and sophisticated."

Excerpt:
With a single tilt of his head, the man let her know that he’d picked her, and she waited for him to arrive at her side. The girls nearby twittered in hopes that he was coming for one of them.

“I’d let him into my nodbox,” one murmured.

A nodbox was a bedroom, and Clara agreed. She’d definitely let this man crease her sheets. But as the women giggled with delight, she wanted to tell them not to concern themselves with their nerves. The man didn’t have eyes for either one.

He was on his way to Clara.

She felt a rush of nervous excitement that started between her legs and flooded outward. It was rare for her to feel so self-conscious. She had a quality to her moves that came from within, a radiance on the floor that couldn’t be taught. This man had it, too. That’s what she’d been drawn to. Dancing could be a form of foreplay. But at most of these swing sessions, there simply wasn’t been anyone she wanted to take to bed.

As a new song began, Lilly Faye and her Fire-Spittin’ Fellas jumping into the groove, the man reached her side. He didn’t say a word, simply put one hand on her waist and steered her onto the floor. This time, she wouldn’t be passed onto someone new. She and her lindy shark would be partnered for the entire song. Knowing this, she took her time checking him out. Up close, he was even more attractive. Those dark liquid eyes, like a silent film star’s, were infinitely expressive. A deep, inky blue, they shined beneath the crystal chandelier. His hands were large, and firm, and they maneuvered her through the moves with expertise, but didn’t roam where they didn’t belong. That was a surprise. Often men took the opportunity to fondle a partner, something Clara generally found distasteful. Now, she realized, she wouldn’t have minded if his hands had wandered down a bit, if he’d tried a little stroking as they glided together.


By Alison Tyler
Photo: Riendo

Edit Me

Edit Me

"Edit Me," which first appeared in "D Is for Dress-Up," is a story based on Alison Tyler's experience working on a Weekly Paper in Los Angeles. Tyler says, "Throughout the years, only one of my men was truly interested in fashion—consumed with putting on my clothes as opposed to taking them off. Hunter was my editor on the newspaper, my Pygmalion. He changed my entire sense of style, turning me from goth girl to girl Friday. He was why I had those pencil skirts and white blouses, why I wore my hair the way I did, wore my make-up in the style of his choosing. He is featured in 'Edit Me,' and there are certain items in my wardrobe that I can’t wear without getting wet from memories of him. Of the way he’d tilt his head and take in my whole look, before making some minor persnickety adjustment. It was as important to him what went on my body as what he ultimately took off."

Excerpt:
My panties, newly purchased, perfectly polka dot, were drenched. I squirmed, and he admonished me. “You flush so pretty. It’s lovely with your skin. But you shouldn’t squirm around as if you’re uncomfortable. You should soak it all in when a man tells you secrets. You should learn from what he says.”

Soak. That was a good word. That’s what I did.

“Now ask,” he’d say magnanimously, lifting his emerald green bottle of imported beer to his lips. “Ask whatever you want.”

He was fair in that way, always allowing me to quiz him after the lunchtime lessons. I tried to show him that I was learning, that I’d paid attention and memorized the facts. But I wasn’t used to drinking beer during the day, stolen sips from his bottle when the waiter wasn’t watching since I wasn’t old enough to order my own. My mind felt hazy around the edges, and all I could mumble was, “Did she like it?”

A headshake. A frown. I’d asked the wrong question, and I felt as bad as if he’d put me over his lap and spanked me. No, that’s a lie. Because that’s what I wished he would do. I hated to disappoint him. I wanted to make him proud. This was why I spent hours agonizing the leads in my sentences, the clothes in my closet.

“Did she come?” I asked.

That was better. More in-your-face, which he liked coming from me. I was so desperately quiet, so unusually naive. How’d I get like that? He simply couldn’t fathom. I was no L.A. woman. True. A transplanted San Francisco girl, I couldn’t begin to blend in a world of silicone and faux blondes. With my ebony eyes, cherry-lips and long dark curly hair, I didn’t fit in. Hunter liked that. He wanted me to blush less, but be comfortable more. Confidence, he said, was power.

“Of course, she came.”

And then, to show him that I was advancing, that I was finally catching on, I said in as husky a voice as I could manage, “I would have come, too.”


By: Alison Tyler
Photo: Riendo

The Super

The Super


"The Super" originally appeared in the collection Master/Slave. The short story features a too-short skirt, a game of fantasy/dress-up, and a fierce spanking.

Excerpt:
He hurried me through the door to the living room, then kicked the door closed and hauled me quickly to the sofa. I saw everything swirling around me. The chocolate leather of the sofa, the bare shiny wood of the floor. He sat down and looked at me, and I shifted uncomfortably before him. I knew better than to sit, knew better than to do anything but wait. Yet waiting was the worst. Waiting and wondering. And hoping.

Of course, hoping—

“Dressed like a naughty little school girl,” he hissed through his teeth. “Dressed in public like that,” he continued, shaking his head now, as if he couldn’t fucking believe it.

I looked down at my feet, head bowed, curls falling free now around my face, and all I could see were my polished loafers and his scuffed work boots, the dark denim blue of his Levis, the wood floor....

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” he asked. “Anything to say in your defense?” and I shook my head no. Immediately, he was standing, his hand around my hair again, my face pulled fiercely back so that I was looking up into his gaze. The way he held my hair hurt now, and I clearly understood the message he was sending me.

“No, Sir—” I said, quickly, but not quickly enough. He had me bent over the side of the sofa in an instant, my skirt roughly pulled up to reveal the lilac rosettes adorning the tops of my garters, then yanked even higher to show my black satin panties. I heard the whisper-hiss of his belt as he pulled it free from the loops of his jeans, and then I felt the air—that crackle-shiver of moving air—before the leather connected with my upturned ass.


By: Alison Tyler
Photo: Riendo

Some Like It Hot

Some Like It Hot

"Some Like It Hot" originally appeared in Playing With Fire. Marina St. Claire said, In "Alison Tyler's own 'Some Like It Hot' - She likes a good boy and a bad boy. Someone's gonna get burned."

Excerpt:
You get heat in the summer time. You get heat in front of a blazing fire. You get heat when the furnace breaks with the knob stuck in the ON position. And you get heat when the two boys you’re dating show up at the same time, and the same place.

Although not the type of inferno you might expect.

Because first there was Jarred, with his tousled good looks, and his full-lipped mouth—a Cupid’s mouth, a girl’s mouth. When we met, he gazed at me as if I’d answered every dream, every prayer, every fantasy he’d ever had. How could I turn down a look so sweet? How could I deny the request in his gray-blue eyes, the destiny he said that only I could fulfill?

And then there was Marlon, with his dark hair, and his black eyes, and the way he confessed the mind games he played on the girls he dated, making me think that I was different. Making me feel like a partner in crime. Marlon’s specialty was twisting and turning every subtle emotion until he got what he wanted. His looks didn’t hurt, either. Ever embracing the dark, he made a uniform out of black jeans, black jackets, black long-sleeved shirts still hot from the iron.

Some, as they say, like it hot.


By: Alison Tyler
Photo: Riendo

In A Handbasket

In A Handbasket

"In a Handbasket" was featured in BWE2010, edited by Violet Blue. Ashley Lister said, "Alison Tyler’s “In a Handbasket” is a witty tale of ostensibly mismatched lovers finally finding
each other."


“Why do you think we’re going to hell?” I asked innocently as we walked away.

“It might have something to do with your shirt,” Caleb said, kindly.

I looked down. I was wearing one of my favorite tees. I’d forgotten completely. The tight-fitting baby-doll white one with SINNER in bold red across my small breasts.

“But you’re not wearing a SINNER shirt,” I pointed out.

Caleb grinned at me. “Wouldn’t fit.”

"What fellowship hath light with darkness?" the preacher’s voice sailed after us.

“I was wondering when he’d get there,” Caleb sighed. I looked up at him, as I always was doing. Up and up and up. “You know, 2 Corinthians has got fuck all to do with interracial relationships. It’s about believers and non-believers.”

My eyes widened. “Which are you?” Religion had never come up with us before. We’d talked politics. We’d talked favorite TV shows from the 80s. And which band was better, Parliament or Three Dog Night. But religion? Not on our agenda, until he said the words:

“A believer.”

I swallowed hard, but then Caleb turned me around so that I could see our reflection in the window of Vagrants.

“You can’t be a lapsed Catholic without first being a practicing Catholic. I know my Scripture.”

“But you said—“

“Now, I’m a believer in what you and I could do together.”

“Do?” my heart hammered in my chest.

“You know…” his big hands tracing my shoulders, then down to my arms, so that his flesh touched mine. “What fellowship hath light with darkness?” he murmured in my ear. We looked good together. No doubt about it. And I was wet, at his touch and at his words.

Once again, I thought I understood. Not why we were going to hell, but why we were getting those looks. Because it was difficult to look at us and not imagine how we might fuck, how Caleb might toss me up in the air, or pin me against the wall, like a butterfly for his collection. From the expression on Caleb’s face, he seemed to be thinking the exact same thing.

“We could make it work,” he said, and his huge hands wandered over my chest, thumb tracing the letters. Slow on the S-I-N, making my nipples harden instantly.

By Alison Tyler
Photo: Riendo

Like A Girl

Like A Girl

When Ivy's dominant boyfriend Logan asks her to dress in drag, she does her best to be the boy he's always wanted. But somehow his assistant, Caleb, dressed in drag as a girl, manages to top her best efforts.

This dirty story originally appeared in the kinky collection Crossdressing.

Excerpt:
My breath caught. Each time Logan’s hand pumped my cock, he pressed the base of the toy back against my clit. And each time I felt that connection, I thought I would climax. He didn’t stop. He didn’t turn or say a word. He kept going, pausing only to add a bit more spit to his palm, so that I felt he was greasing me.

Caleb froze. I’m sure something flippant was on the tip of his tongue, but maybe he caught a look at Logan’s face, and that stopped him. He was able to shut the door behind him, and then he stood totally still, and I knew he was waiting for instructions.

“You’re going to come for me, boy?” Logan murmured, crooning to me, but teasing somehow. Taunting me for dressing like this in the first place. He’d told me to buy an outfit for Cal. He hadn’t told me to dress up myself.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Then come.”

My knees would have buckled if Logan hadn’t used one hand to pin my shoulder against the wall, holding me in place easily as the shudders worked through me. The orgasm was almost frighteningly intense. Embarrassingly so, as I was being watched fiercely by the two men in my life. And then it was over, and Logan let me go, and I hiked up my jeans and sank down to the floor, letting the wall support me now.

“You even come like a girl,” Logan said as he poured himself a fresh drink.

I didn’t answer that. I didn’t have anything to say.


By: Alison Tyler
Photo: riendo

Underneath

Underneath

This 2700-word short story originally appeared in Zane's lesbian collection Purple Panties. The piece focuses on panties, punishment, and the perfect type of penance.

Excerpt:
“I’m not walking naked down the hall,” I heard myself tell her, taking a stand. It was a test. Would she pass? Would I?

Doreen shook her head. “Here I am, trying to help out a poor girl in need, and all I’m getting is lip.”

She was towering over me in seconds, dragging me by the ear to the wooden bench in front of the showers. Then she sat down and hauled me over her lap and her hand came down in a series of supremely stinging slaps, blows that had me squirming and kicking from the start.

I’d been fantasizing about being spanked for longer than I could remember, but I’d had no idea of what the actual pain involved might be. The pain, and of course, the pleasure. Because both came together. I could hardly wrap my mind around the fact that this gorgeous woman whom I’d never even been formally introduced to was now heating my curvaceous hind end. But she was, talking darkly as she spanked me, “Bad girl needs a bit of a tune-up, I’d say. Lose some of that haughty attitude. Next time I’m going to send you out to cut your own switch,” and I almost came right then.

Doreen shoved me off her lap.

“Now,” she said, “I’d suggest you follow me to my room.


By: Alison Tyler
Photo: Riendo

Girls Are A Nuisance

Girls Are A Nuisance


"Girls are a Nuisance," by Alison Tyler, lifts its title from a Raymond Chandler story called "Pearls Are a Nuisance." The short story originally appeared in 2001 in Noirotica 3, edited by the awesome Thomas S. Roche, and featuring stories by writers including M. Christian, Bill Brent, Michelle Tea, Thea Hillman, and Kate Bornstein. The characters first appeared in a novel Tyler wrote for Masquerade, called "Dial L for Loveless."

Excerpt:
“What are you going to do?” I asked. “Fuck me better?”

“Such a dirty mouth,” he sneered. “You talk to your mother with that mouth?”

“I sucked your cock with this mouth,” I reminded him, and he slapped me, hard enough to send me back onto the couch. Without changing his expression, he reached for me again and quick-stepped me to the torture wall. I was bound before I truly knew what was happening. Russell left me alone long enough to go back to the kitchen for scissors, and while I cussed him out, he cut my robe off. The faded blue plaid hung in tatters from my naked body…

“You’re still amazing,” he said, stepping back to appreciate me. “You’ve got the most gorgeous ass.”

I stayed quiet, listening as he rummaged through the stand of weapons. I heard the wood and bone clacking together, and then heard him grunt as he found what he was looking for. It was a bamboo cane. I knew the instant it connected with my skin. He hit me once, as a way of introduction, and then let a series of blows rain down on my ass and thighs. The power behind the strokes left me breathless.

Sandrine had been a capable dom. Russell was born with the hot wire of a sadist alive in his soul.

“Feel that?” he asked, stopping for a second to press his palm against my heated flesh. “Waking up yet?”

I didn’t respond. My mind was reeling.

Note: This 2400 word story contains BDSM, caning, and more kinky concepts. Adults only!


By: Alison Tyler
Photo: Riendo

Prego

Prego


Prego (a 2200-word story) originally appeared in the collection of oral sex stories, "Tasting Him." In this story, a jar of pasta sauce becomes an unwitting (although quite willing) partner in a couple's kitchen interlude.

***

Alison Tyler's “Prego” is one of my favorite, favorite stories - it just resonated with me and I think of it often too. Funny how a story can get under your skin like that, huh?
—Neve Black

My unquestioned favorite tale in this collection is Alison Tyler’s “Prego.” Although the protagonists are a long-established couple, it still manages to be outrageously spontaneous and intensely erotic… the lure of Jackson’s tomato-marinated cock is irresistible.
—Lisabet Sarai, Erotica Revealed, in a review of Tasting Him




By Alison Tyler
Photo: Riendo

The Art of Darkness

The Art Of Darkness

"The Art of Darkness" has appeared in the collection "Yes, Sir."

Lucrezia Magazine said: "Yes, Sir opens with Alison Tyler’s story The Art of Darkness. Her main character Greer, finally admits her fears to her Dom, Killian, and in his own kinky, dominant way pushes her to overcome them."

Excerpt:
When Killian had first suggested a blindfold, I’d balked. Worse than that, I’d safeworded, to his total shock. “Jasmine,” I’d said quickly.

“What did you say?”

“Jasmine.Jasmine.Jasmine.” The words were strung together in my haste.

“You do everything else, Greer,” he murmured, surprised at my instantaneous and—in his view—negative response. “You willingly wear the cuffs, the collar, the chastity belt. You bend over for my cock any time. Anywhere. Why won’t you wear a blindfold?”

I shrugged, unwilling to say, while he continued.

“That’s practically vanilla sex. Women who read Ladies’ Home Journal use blindfolds.”

I wondered where he got that last bit of information. He didn’t know any women who read Ladies’ Home Journal. But I understood his point. Blindfolds were almost comically acceptable now. I could have walked into any one of my friends’ apartments and found one tucked in a dresser drawer. Who wouldn’t wear a blindfold?

That was simple: me.

“You’ve let me drip wax on you, let me use anal beads the size of walnuts. We own a crop, a flogger, a studded paddle, and a cane. What’s up with a blindfold?”

I hadn’t wanted to admit the truth right away. What if he thought I was some sort of freak? But Killian simply wouldn’t let go of the concept.


By Alison Tyler
Photo: Riendo