Daddy Complex

I’ve always been attracted to older men. When I was sixteen my aunt Betty and her boyfriend Roger visited from England. It was a hot summer. I was wearing shorts. Driving them home in the car from the airport, we had to squish to fit in five people: my mother and aunt in the back, my father driving, Roger in the front passenger seat and me in between, my bare leg lying next to Roger’s, my foot touching his. That was all that came of it but I still remember the thrill when his foot responded, touched mine back.

I’m a grown woman now, a legal secretary at Stevens, McGill and Dougherty, a well-respected law firm. I spend my working hours surrounded by powerful men my age and older: hot shot litigators, arrogant judges, crown attorneys, politicians and policy wonks. And it turns me on.

I overheard a couple of secretaries talking about me in the bathroom recently. They called me Queen Victoria because they thought I was an up-tight bitch.

“I bet she’s still a virgin,” a nasal voice said. I thought it must be Clara, Darrell McGill’s assistant. She wasn’t hired for her smarts, but for her cleavage and strawberry blonde hair. McGill had a thing for strawberry blondes with big tits.

“Nah, even with that horse face, some guys are desperate. I bet she’s had a few up her snatch. It’s not like they’d have to look at her,” I heard another throatier, smoky voice say. I realized this was Jane, the aging receptionist. You’d think she’d know better, gossiping like that in the public bathroom of a law firm.

I walked out of that stall, washed my hands, quaking with anger.

“You’re right, Clara,” I said calmly. I’m almost a virgin, haven’t been laid in years. Which means I’m in a bad mood. Hope I don’t take it out on you,” I said, as I flicked my wet hands at her on the way out.

Women at the firm didn’t like me and I didn’t like them much either. I was good at my job and ruthless. I was all about men. I adored them. Given the chance, I would worship them.

I work out my fantasies in private, using an alter ego on line while cybering with daddy types as depraved and kinky as me; my firm has a strict morality clause. As a single woman in my early thirties, I’m expected to comport myself with dignity at all times. So I keep my kink to myself. I absolutely cannot lose this job.

I date mostly vanilla guys my age who might help me get ahead in my career. To keep up appearances and be seen by members of the legal profession as an up and comer. I’d like to go back to school, become a lawyer myself. I know that must seem odd, at my age, but I would love to take charge of some of these cases. So many of the lawyers are jaded, don’t seem to care. I would win. I’m a details fetishist.

My own father was a weak-willed man who spent most of his time drunk on the couch in the fetal position after having lost his job yet again. Maybe my kink did come from something to do with that relationship, something I was missing, but I don’t dwell on that. The fantasies I enact with on-line daddies are between consenting adults.

I’m daddy’s little girl, I do what he says, when he says, stroke my cunt to his commands. Only get off when he tells me to. Where’s the harm?

The firm’s founder was Kip Stevens. He rarely came in to the office since his retirement and the death of his wife. When he did, I had to be careful not to cream my sensible panties when he was near. The man radiated power. He had white hair, was always immaculately dressed in a suit and tie. His dark flashing eyes sent darts of lust straight to my cunt.

I fantasized about being on my knees in front of him, his cock hanging out of his navy blue pinstripe suit pants. God, I loved his power suits, his crisply ironed white shirts, black dress shoes, his silk ties. I think of him using one of those silk ties to bind my hands or blindfold me. I was deep in the middle of such thoughts when I heard a throat clear.

“Ahem, Miss Dupré…Sally?”

I smelled Mr. Stevens distinctive scent: a mix of cedar and oak from his cologne and the rich aroma of a recently smoked cigar. I jerked my head up and blushed.

“Yes, sir,” I squeaked like a mouse. This made me blush even more. I was normally a confident woman. Some of the lawyers even referred to me as formidable. I’d heard them chuckling over a recent run-in I’d had with an articling student who thought he was my superior. Naturally I set him straight, humiliated him in front of his fellow associates and sent him on his way.

“Please come to my office immediately and bring the Forsythe case notes.”

“Yes, Mr. Stevens, right away,” I said and quickly retrieved the file from the computer as he walked back to his office. I’d forgotten he was handling a divorce case. A wealthy property developer and his estranged wife were suing one another for child custody. I’d heard the husband, James Forsythe III, was a fellow country club member who’d asked his old buddy, Kip, to handle his divorce.

I knocked on the heavy oak door before entering.

“Come,” his voice barked gruffly from deep within the room.

I took a breath, collected myself, and walked in. He was sitting at his massive desk with his feet up, smoking a cigar. The light came in from the large picture window behind him and surrounded his head, like a halo, but I suspected the man was no angel.

Much to my disgrace, the papers fell to the floor.

As I struggled to pick them up, he came out from behind his desk. I’d forgotten to put on my jacket. I was wearing a white silk blouse and a short navy skirt, a bit tight around my backside. My other suits were at the cleaners and I’d pulled this one from the back of the closet out of desperation.

“Can I help you, Sally? he asked as he walked toward me.

The skirt clung to my body as I bent over, trying to retrieve the scattered papers.

I heard his steps on the hardwood floor of his office. He hated wall-to-wall carpeting, and as the boss, his every taste was accommodated. He leaned down and for one brief second put his hand on my back. I felt the heat of it on my skin. My nipples hardened with lust. Flustered, I stumbled upright to a standing position, almost knocking the man in the nose.

“That’s all right, sir,” I said, gathering up the papers, “No need to help me. I have them all now.”

He chuckled.

“Take a seat,” he said and gestured toward the black leather chair in front of his desk. He poured himself a glass of scotch from a decanter on the sideboard, picked up the fat cigar from the ashtray on his desk and took a puff. He didn’t offer me any alcohol, but of course that would have been highly inappropriate. I was his inferior, his employee.

He was unorthodox, a maverick, known for his ability to bend the law just far enough to make it do his bidding. My co-workers called him god. Secretly I felt the same thing. The man could do anything. I wished he would do anything…to me.

I’d hoped I hadn’t ruined things by wearing such a short skirt or being so clumsy. I’d been with the firm for three years, loved my job, didn’t want to do anything to ruin it.

While I sat, Mr. Stevens went over the details of what he needed to prepare for the case. I made a list, resumed my normally competent behaviour.

“I hear you’ve been a big help to my partners, Ms. Dupré. I hope you aren’t going to disappoint me,” he said as he put down his scotch and looked me in the eye.

I shook my head and looked down.

“Next time you come to this office, I expect you to dress appropriately, young lady,” he said as he gave me a dark look that turned my insides to jelly and wet my cunt.

I stared hard at the table, feeling embarrassed, ashamed and highly aroused.

“Yes, sir, I apologize. It won’t happen again.”

He nodded and I took my leave.

That night I was randier than ever. I went on line to my favourite Internet sex site and logged on. Immediately I had a bunch of messages from so-called daddies, wanting to meet. My profile was very specific. I wouldn’t meet, I just wanted to cyber.

I sighed and shut down the site, deciding to go to bed with my vibrator and fantasies about Kip Stevens. I imagined him punishing me for the day’s misdemeanor, turning me over his knee, pulling my skirt up and my thong down. I imagined feeling that hot hand on my ass as he spanked me hard.

I pressed the vibe along the inner lips of my cunt, fingered myself. I slid the vibe up to my clit, starting with the lowest setting and speeding up to high as I humped against it.

I turned over on my stomach and imagined Kip’s hands roving over the red marks on my ass that he had caused. I reached down and pinched my aching cunt as I fantasized about him scolding me.

“You slut, you slattern, you worthless little whore,” he said in my fantasy.

I humped hard into the mattress as I imagined his derision toward me, the hard slaps on my body, his hands reaching between my legs and tweaking my cunt, slapping my clit, pressing himself down onto me…Of course I was a worthless whore. I deserved to be used, to be punished.

I came hard against the mattress and soaked the sheets.

The next morning I was worn out. I didn’t have time to go to the dry cleaners so I was stuck with the same suit again. I hoped Kip wasn’t there today.

Coming in to the building I carried a cup of coffee and dashed for the elevator. I bumped into a man who was leaving and spilled the coffee all over his shirt. It was Kip.

“Miss Dupré” he growled as he mopped at the stain growing on his freshly laundered shirt.

“I am so very sorry, Mr. Stevens,” I said. I couldn’t believe I’d spilled coffee on this man of all people. My day was off to a terrible start.

“And once again you are wearing inappropriate attire. Go home and change or don’t come back today, Miss Dupré. I have a meeting with Forsythe outside the office. If I see you again in this outfit when I return, there will be consequences. And now I have to go home and change my shirt. You’ve wasted enough of my time.”

With that he walked away and left me trembling with fury, at myself for my clumsiness, at him for his unfairness. But absurdly, I felt aroused. It was the tone of his voice and the way he looked at me, his dark eyes hot and flashing anger, his lips twisted into a scowl, the derision he cast toward me. I was incompetent, an idiot. I deserved to be punished.

I went to the dry cleaners, picked up my suits and returned home to change. I was so turned on I figured I might as well take my time before returning to work otherwise I wouldn’t be able to concentrate. I accessed the Internet sex site and checked my messages again. I opened up an e-mail by someone named Power Daddy.

“Sally,” the e-mail began. I was alarmed right away. I used the pseudonym HotStrumpet on the site. There’s nothing to connect me to this name, not a thing. I trembled as I read on.

“I know who you are, little girl. And who you’re masquerading as. You’re going to do exactly what I say or I’ll make sure you lose your job, Miss Dupré.


Holy shit. I was in trouble. So much trouble. I took a look at PD’s profile. Like me his description didn’t include a photograph. He was dominant, older than me. Looking for obedient women who needed to explore mutual Daddy/little girl fantasies. Other than that, it said little.

I could barely read the description. I was so freaked out. I didn’t know what to do. I changed into my suit and went to the office. After all I’d dealt with a few blackmail cases in my duties as a legal secretary. I had access to great legal minds. I mulled all of this over as I arrived back at the office. Who could I confide in? Not McGill or Dougherty, they’d have my ass for sure.

At my desk, I decided to concentrate on work. I had a pile of deadlines to meet and lawyers’ stringent demands to satisfy. I put my head down and kept my mind busy with the challenges of the work.

When I got up to visit the ladies’ room, I passed a group of men in the hall, one of whom was Kip Stevens. He pulled me aside.

“That’s a much better choice of outfits, Miss Dupré. You’re a good girl,” he said in whispered tones. For some reason it felt as if an intimacy had been established between us. I smiled.

“Thank you, Mr. Stevens. I’m so glad you approve.” I said and curtseyed.

He gave me a saucy wink that caused erotic shivers through me and went back to his group.

That night I checked my e-mail again. Another message from PowerDaddy.

“Strip naked. Put on that short skirt you wore to work. Nothing else. Take a picture. Let me see your face and those tits. And they’d better be fucking hard. E-mail it to me. Do it now.”

‘Oh my god.’ I thought. ‘This guy must be someone I work with.’

I was horrified. In shock. And yet I felt compelled by what I don’t know, by my desires, by a strange sense of not being able to refuse. I did what he said. My fingers trembled so hard I could barely undo the buttons of my blouse, unzip my skirt and remove my nylons. He hadn’t said to keep on the nylons. I was confused. I put on the short skirt and nothing else, I sat topless in front of the computer and tweaked my nipples until they were erect.

I turned on my web camera and took a photo. My small tits winked at me in the photo. I had these tiny little girl tits, still at my age. It was embarrassing. I felt humiliated, scared, but I did what he said. As I pressed the send button, I imagined this guy looking at the photo, touching himself to the picture of my small tits. I couldn’t help myself, I was aroused.

I pressed my fingers into my cunt as I looked at my tits. I rocked my hips into the hard leather of my chair. I knew I was waiting, waiting for this guy, whoever he was, to respond to the picture. And it wasn’t long before he did.

“Very good, little girl. You have such sexy little tits. I want to stroke them for you, honey. Lick them and make you cum. You’ve pleased your daddy, baby. Now go to bed and fuck yourself for me, make yourself wet and write me all about it.”

I felt proud, so turned on, I wanted to do whatever he said. I went to bed and fucked thinking about his commands. I knew I should stop this, but I couldn’t help myself. I was so fucking horny, so desperate.

I wrote back an e-mail.

Dear Daddy,

I fucked myself for you. I imagined you here in my room, your hot breath on my body in the dark as I lay in my nightgown. Your big hands lifting up the nightie and stroking my body all over, so hot on my little titties, over my stomach, then down over my pussy, daddy. My pussy is yours. I am yours, daddy. Please daddy, please make me cum, please make me a woman. Please make me yours. I’m coming for you now, daddy. Taking your big cock inside me for the first time. Letting you take me. It feels so good.


I pushed send and waited. I heard nothing more that night. I spent the night fucking myself to this fantasy. The face I kept seeing in my mind was that of Kip Stevens.

The next day at work, I had another run in with the two awful scags in my firm: Clara and Jane. They snickered when they saw me. Clara looked me up and down.

“Hey, tiny tits,” she said.

‘What the hell was that about?’ I wondered. I turned red and rushed away from them.

I was tired and in no mood for those two. I was also scared about what I’d done the night before. How could I send a photograph of myself to a stranger? What would happen if that photo was revealed? I’d lose my job. I rushed to the women’s bathroom in tears.

I dried my tears and tried to get a hold of myself. I decided I had to confide in someone. As I was passing Kip’s office, I saw that the door was open. I slowed down. It was a ridiculous idea to confide in him. He’d never understand. After all he’d berated me for wearing a short skirt. What the hell would he say? He’d fire me. I knew he would.

He came out of his office.

“Something I can do for you, Miss Dupré,” he said, eyeing my red-rimmed covered eyes.

“You look upset. Come in to my office.”

I gulped. Couldn’t really say no, but I worried I would spill my guts.

He motioned me over to the sofa and sat beside me.

“Miss Dupré…Sally…I’ve never seen you this upset. Have a drink.”

He poured us both a scotch. I took mine and gulped it down, then coughed.

He patted my back.

“Not used to strong liquor, young lady?”he said as his hand lingered there.

“No sir, I’m sorry,” I said between coughs.

“Next time don’t try to drink it all at once. A good spirit is meant to be savoured. This is an expensive scotch, my girl. Not to be wasted.”

“Thank you, sir. I uh…I’m sorry,” and then I burst into tears, right in front of him, to my mortification.

He brought out a handkerchief and I grabbed at it, drying my eyes, trying hard to regain my composure.

His fingers reached out and he touched one of my cheeks, still wet with tears.

“You’re a beautiful girl, you know that, Sally,” he said.

It was weird. I thought he was actually going to kiss me. The phone rang and broke the mood.

“Sorry, Miss Dupré, that’s a call I’ve been waiting for. See yourself out.”

I abruptly got to my feet as he walked toward his desk to answer the phone.

Again when I got home that night I couldn’t help checking my e-mail. It had become a compulsion.

PD’s e-mail was short. It contained only a telephone number. I knew what I had to do.

I picked up my phone, used the combination of codes to mask my number, and dialled.

“Hello,” a distorted voice answered. Clearly he was disguising his voice, so he must have been someone I knew.

“Hello,” I responded.

“Call me, sir.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, as my voice trembled.

“You’re a slut, aren’t you, little girl.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Say it.”

“I’m a slut.”

“You’re a worthless little girl.”

“I’m a worthless little girl.”

“That’s right, slut. And you’re going to do everything I say. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” I answered feeling my cunt grow wet as I promised to obey the commanding voice.

“Do you have a dildo, slut?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Describe it for me.”

“It’s pink and curved,” I said. “Made to fit the g-spot.”

“I don’t fucking care about its colour or your g-spot, you fucking moron. I want to know how big it is, length, thickness. Answer me, you fucking slut.”

“I’m ssssorry, sir. It’s not that big. Maybe 6 inches.”

“What do you have that’s bigger?”

I thought for awhile.

“Nnnnothing. Uh…well…”

“Tell me now, slut.”

“Uh…in the fridge, I have carrots. They’re long but not really thick. Maybe 9 inches.”

“Get your clothes off, girl. Shove a carrot up your twat, all the way up. I don’t want to see anything showing but the greens. Send me a picture. Hang up this goddamn phone and jump.”

“Yes, sir,” I said and dashed to the refrigerator.

I was scared. I was turned on. It was a strange combination. I found my digital camera and set it on the floor. I grabbed the carrot out of the fridge, washed it, took off my clothes and squatted, pushing it further and further inside me until it was all the way in. I couldn’t help myself, I humped against it. It felt cold inside me. I imagined it was Kip’s cock and moaned as I came. I reached out for the camera and positioned it between my legs. It took a few shots before I had a picture that wasn’t out of focus. My hands were shaking, it was a difficult position. But eventually I did it.

I uploaded the photo and pressed send.

I heard nothing more that night.

The next morning at work, I received an e-mail from Kip Stevens, a summons to his office as soon as I arrived.

I hurried into his office.

“Shut the door,” he ordered.

I did as I was told.

He pulled out a photo. I gasped. It was the picture of my cunt with the carrot inside it.

He pulled out another photo, the one of me topless.

I started to cry.

“What kind of a perverted stunt is this, young lady?” he said, his voice quaking with anger.

He rushed around his desk.

“You realize this is grounds for dismissal. Immediate dismissal.”

I started to walk out the door. I figured I was finished. I didn’t want to hear anymore.

“Turn around, young lady and sit down. Now,” he said, his voice firm.

I sat.

“Stop crying.”

He reached over and put his hand on my face.

“We’re going to sort this out,” he said, and poured us both a scotch.

This time, I was careful to sip rather than devour it whole. I felt its comforting warmth go through my body.

“Good girl,” he said. That damn voice of his and his calling me a good girl still turned me on, despite all of the trouble I was in.

“The photos were e-mailed to me anonymously, but I can get the e-mail traced. You know we have a cracker jack team of detectives, Sally.”

I nodded.

He stared at me. His eyes focused on my chest.

“You have beautiful breasts, girl,” he whispered.

I wanted him so badly right then, but he stood up. I could see the bulge in his pants. It wouldn’t be difficult for me just to reach up and unzip him right then and there. Take his cock in my mouth and worship it. After all, what did I have to lose?

I moved toward him, but he pushed me away. Slapped my face hard.

“Don’t be an idiot,” he said. But his eyes said different. So did his cock. And that slap was so fucking good. It sent shivers straight to my cunt and my tits. I wanted him badly. And he clearly liked that slap as much as I did, judging by his hard cock, which was straining against his pants.

“Take today off, hell take the week off. I’ll let you know when to come back.”

He stormed out of his office and left me there, my chest heaving, my cunt sopping wet.

You’d think I’d stop then, that I’d know better. But when I got home the first thing I did was check my e-mail. Nothing. I was actually disappointed. What a twisted fuck. Did I want to get myself fired? I was an idiot.

I went to bed without dinner, too upset to eat. Like a little girl being sent to her room. I imagined the door opening and a tall man entering, calling me his little slut, coming to my bed and forcing his cock down my throat. I moaned as I came.

I heard a knock at the door, my real door. I was disheveled and flushed, my fingers still smelled of my orgasm but the knock was urgent. I heard a familiar voice. It sounded like Kip Stevens. I threw open the door.

“Sally, we got the fuckers,” he said, then stopped and took a long look at me in my nightgown, the buttons undone so I could stroke my tits while I fucked myself, my bright red face. His eyes darkened as he walked in. He pulled me toward him.

“Jeezus, girl, you’re so fucking sexy,” he said and picked me up in his arms.

We didn’t make it as far as the bedroom, he threw me on the couch and unzipped his pants.

“You want a daddy, little girl,” he rasped.

Oh my god, I thought I was going to die of shame and hunger, all at once.

“Yes…sir,” I said, looking up at his beautiful erect cock, into his eyes.

“You don’t say a word to anyone about this, do you understand, girl?” he said as he stepped toward me, the lust in his eyes matching my own. “Call me daddy.”

“Yes, daddy,” I said as I felt my cunt swell.

“Suck your daddy’s cock, honey. Do it now.”

Fuck. Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes, oh yes. This was what I wanted. What I needed.

I got down on my knees in front of my daddy. I was close so close to the object of my worship, the penis, what I was made for, made to lick, to stroke, to take inside me. I moved closer, warmed it with my hot breath, watched it jerk in response to the heat. I leaned close, smelled the musk from daddy’s pubic hair. Noted the silver hair threaded through it and moaned as daddy reached down and caressed my head.

“Now suck,” he commanded.

I opened my mouth and took his cock inside. My cunt was wet, warm, needy. He spread my legs with his shoe.

“Get your cunt on that shoe. Make it wet, girl,” he said and I obeyed. I pressed my hot cunt onto the hard black leather of his shoe and fucked it as I licked and sucked his cock, burying my face in it, rubbing my chin along it, twirling my tongue over his grey-haired balls. Finally being allowed to worship him, my daddy.

He rocked his hips against my face as I took his cock deep down my throat and breathed through my nose. He reached down and tweaked my tits.

“Such sweet little tits, girl. My pretty little girl,” he said and I groaned. I was going to cum soon, cum hard on my daddy’s foot with his cock in my mouth.

“That’s right, Sally, girl,” he said, “come for me, come for your daddy. Please your daddy.”

Oh yesssss. All I wanted to do was please him, fuck for him, give myself to him. I moaned as I came.

“Now you’re wet for me, girl,” he said, and I looked down and saw his shoe, slick and covered with my cum.

“Lick up your cum, you naughty little slut. Now!,” he said and I pressed my face up against his shoe and licked, the taste of expensive Italian leather mingling with the sweet tang of my cum.

“Now get up,” he said, “wait for me in your room.”

I got up from the floor, the wetness from my orgasm running down my leg. I rushed to my bedroom and lay on the bed, waiting for Kip, who’d become my daddy, the daddy I’d always wanted.

He entered the room and stood against the door, the shadow of his big body looming.

“I’m going to fuck you now, you little slut. I’m going to make you mine. Beg me for it.”

“Yes, daddy. Please fuck me. Pleasssse…,” I said as he removed his clothes.

“Such a little whore, you don’t even wear underwear,” he said as he put his hands on my legs and moved them up to my thighs, beneath my nightie to my naked and wet cunt.

“You’ve still got some girl spunk on your privates, honey,” he said, as his fingers tangled in the curls of my pubic hair.

“Such a big girl to have hair down there, aren’t you girl?” he said.

We were both playing roles I’d been dying to play for years.

He opened my legs wider and knelt between them. His hard cock pressed against my leg.

“I’m going to fuck you now, girl, take that cunt of yours. Can you handle daddy’s cock inside you?”

“Yes, daddy,” I said. Both of us knew I was a grown woman. I was no virgin, but we maintained our fantasy. Kip entered me slowly and I opened for him. As he entered I stared up at his dark flashing eyes, his daddy eyes. I gasped in ecstasy as he filled me with his hard daddy cock. I matched his thrusts with my own.

“Touch your clit, little girl,” he whispered. “Touch it for daddy.”

I reached down between us and put my finger on the hard button at the apex of my cunt and pressed gently on it while he thrust into me.

“You’re a fucking whore,” he said as he fucked me hard.

“Yes, daddy, I’m a whore, your whore.”

We both came hard. He rolled me over on top of him.

“Let your daddy feel those little tits of yours,” he said as he stroked them erect. He took one in his mouth. I stroked the silver head of hair as he licked my tit and caressed the other. I was still aroused, still wanting more of him. I pressed my cunt down on his cock and he took me again, let me ride him to orgasm, mine and his, mingling.

Afterward we looked at one another with wonder.

“You are one kinky woman, Miss Dupré,” he said and I gave him a little wink. He swatted my ass.

“You know we’re going to have to keep this very private, don’t you? No more flaunting your little slut body on the Internet.”

“Yes sir,” I said and then because lust had driven the whole fear of blackmail right out of my mind, that’s how fucked up I am…I remembered…

“Uh, you said something about getting the fuckers when you first got here….?”

“Yes. It was Clara and Jane.”

“What the fuck? No way!,” I said and waited to hear more.

“They hated your guts, Sally. They were jealous of you. Some computer geek friend of theirs found you on line and they used that to exploit you. They wanted you gone. They made the mistake of sending me another e-mail with your e-mail. We were able to trace it. I have to tell you that e-mail of yours to PowerDaddy really turned me on.”

I swallowed. Couldn’t believe those two dumb bitches were capable of doing that to me, driving me to almost lose my job. I sighed.

Kip lay in bed beside me.

“They’ve been arrested for blackmailing but we’re able to keep your name out of it. From now on, I’m the only daddy you respond to and only in person, understand?”

“Yes, daddy,” I said and reached down for his cock, which was hard, again and ready.

© 2012 Amanda Earl. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

Bio: Amanda Earl is a Canadian libertine living in Ottawa, Ontario. Her smut has appeared in numerous anthologies including “the Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica” (Carroll and Graf, 2006 and 2007), “Cream, The Best of The Erotica Readers and Writers Association” (Thunder’s Mouth Press, 2006), “Swing! Adventures in Swinging by Today’s Top Erotica Writers” (Logical-Lust, 2009), “Do Not Disturb, Hotel Sex Stories” (Cleis Press, 2009), “Surrender: Erotic Tales of Female Pleasure and Submission” (Cleis Press, 2011). For more information, please visit or follow Amanda on Twitter @KikiFolle.

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