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Gail Williams
Love comes with strings, in many way. Some are feather light and break at the first touch, others are battleship chains, 50 foot long and a 2 ton anchor.
Some say that love starts when Cupid strikes – after all Cupid’s arrow must by definition come from a bow and any archer can tell you that a bow must be strung for the arrow to be released. There’s all the romantic music, the strings of the violin, the guitar, the piano. And if music be the food of love, then there are not just strings, but strains too. Talking of food, what is the spaghetti, but the string that brought Lady and The Tramp together? Okay I’m stretching it with that one, but you get the drift.
If you’re going down the marriage route, there are lots of symbolic tying of the knot kind of things too. But let’s face it we’re here to talk about the more physical side of things, and there’s nothing wrong with a good bit of consensual binding there either. There are a myriad fetishes too be played upon and catered to in that arena.
With all this talk of strings, strains and bindings, where is a girl’s mind to go, but to corsets and lacings, let the boning take the strain. Oh, boning – yes please – oh, now my mind’s off at another tangent. Right, back to the corsets. Yes. Okay, I admit that when sex and strings and binding come to mind, corsets is my Plan A, Plan B, and mostly Plan C. I love a corset me. I own and wear a number of different styles of corset for different occasions.
There is something uniquely appealing to being restrained by a corset. I mean don’t get me wrong, corsets can do terrible things to the female body and there are plenty of examples, particularly among the Victorian case books that explain in gory detail just how dangerous a corset can be long term. But for a few hours a day, they can hold more than just your waistline in, support more than your ample (or not) bosom. Actually they are very good a making a bosom look much more ample than it actually is.
Corsets are not just for the dominatrix either, though there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. The corset came to prominence in the sixteenth century, but when most people think about corsets, the mind goes to the much more restrictive nineteenth century Victorian corsets. In Victorian times, every girl was corseted, from the virgin to the street walker. To this day bridal shops do a roaring trade in white virginal corsets for the blushing bride – no I don’t believe it either, not the virginal nor the blushing, but it takes all sorts.
So when I found out about an open submission for Sinful Pleasures, I wondered about sex and love and submission and dominance. Which meant that I thought about corsets. Not white virginal corsets. Not black leather dominatrix corsets either. Just nice corsets, smart corsets, everyday corsets, ones you can wear to work corsets.
And if you’re in work wearing a corset, there are very few professions where you won’t be working with men who will notice, and they will become distracted, and if it’s that logical, then there’s the start of the story. A man realises that a woman in the office is wearing a corset and if he can’t control her in any other way, maybe he can control the tightness of the corset. He can’t let her know the power she has over him, so he has to find a way to have power over her - if she wants him to. And luckily for Fletcher, Smith wants him too. So as he binds her tighter, she ties him to her.
It also has to be said that Miss Smith isn’t the only corset wearer I write. It’s a different niche, but I also write in the steampunk genre. I have a very determined young woman in a corset, setting all kinds of strings around a very tightly bound gentleman in my forthcoming novel “Shades of Aether” to be released at the end of August. For more details on that follow me on Twitter @ShadesOfAether.
But, just for now, why don’t you go get tied up in a good book, in whatever niche you have a preference for.
Excerpt from “Taking It”
Sinful Pleasures
I’m staring at the computer screen, trying to focus, when my mobile whistles. A text.
Top services door. Five minutes, Plaything.
A grin appears on my face before I can contain it and I check the office to see if anyone has noticed, but thankfully they are all as busy as I am. Five minutes. Not long. Yet it feels like a lifetime before I’ll be with him. Released by him.
Dear God when did I turn submissive?
The second that man touched me is when, but it won’t last.
Fletcher will play with me for a while, but like all boys, he’ll grow bored of his toy and discard it, discard me. That idea should hurt, but my need right now overwhelms my concerns for the future, and I give up trying to hide the smile as I start up the deserted stairwell. At the top, I find the door is locked, but I don’t have long to wait.
Slow measured steps echo through the concrete space. My pulse runs a sprint. He’ll be here any second. I close my eyes and draw my bottom lip between my teeth. The footfalls stop and I know he’s standing in front of me. I can’t see him, but I know. I recognise his scent—spice and musk—Him. I keep my eyes closed, but I feel the heat as he steps closer. He doesn’t speak.
His fingertips brush the skin of my throat then travel down to grip the scarf and pull it away. Next the button of my jacket is freed before the material is brushed aside. I push forward, only my head against the door, to allow him to ease the jacket from my shoulders and down my arms.
His hands touch my neck, his fingertips drawing patterns across the back of my scalp, and my lip comes from between my teeth as I draw in a breath. His thumbs move around my throat and he squeezes gently. My eyes spring open; I don’t speak as he shushes me. His eyes are dark, his own breathing laboured. The pressure tightens, but not painfully.
“Like?”
His word is just a whisper. Knowing that sound travels far on these stairs, I answer with a small nod. He smiles triumphantly. For a moment the hold becomes painful, but only a moment. His hands move down, kneading my breasts, before moving again and circling my waist. Then he crunches over as he grabs my bottom. Suddenly I’m pulled up off my feet, his body pressing against mine, pushing me into the door, squashing me in the most delicious way. The closeness assures me of his arousal, hard and hot at my Mount of Venus. There are too many clothes between us.
I wriggle, panting as I look at him. His face is so close. I really want to kiss him. Well I want him to kiss me; I’m his plaything, he has to make the play. He grinds his groin into mine.
I bury my head into the angle between his neck and his shoulder as a small whimper escapes me.
“Want?”
It’s little more than a breath. I nod again, and feel his silent chuckle. He rocks against me, picking up pace as I cling to him. I’m light headed with need and can take no more, clamping my jaw to hold in a moan as the climax overtakes me.
Blurb
Join us as we weave our way from mainstream erotic romance to surreal sex-filled dreamscapes and everything in between, created by some of the best new and established voices in the erotica genre.
Janine Ashbless, Ella Scandal, Sonni de Soto, Jo Henny Wolf, Lily Harlem, Lady Divine, Gail Williams, Samantha MacLeod, Tony Fyler, Ellie Barker, Lisa McCarthy
Buy links
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Author bio
Gail B Williams lives in her own private dungeon populated with all the weird and the wonderful she can imagine. Some of it’s very weird, and the odd bits and pieces are really quite wonderful. With a vivid imagination, there was no other choice for Gail than to write, something she’s been doing her for as long as she can remember. Gail is English by birth, but lives in Wales, married a Welshman and have two fantastic children. They live with the worlds most imperious and demanding cat.
Enjoying the whole range of human experience, Gail has a collection of short crime stories out, “Last Cut Casebook”, and a full length crime novel “Locked Up”, and steampunk novel “Shades of Aether” both being published in Autumn 2017. For more information on the books, and her blog, find out more see www.gailbwilliams.co.uk.
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