I think it is fantastic that this excellent collection has come out in the summer. Can’t Get Enough (Cleis Press), with a sexy beach escapade on the cover is the perfect hot weather heat up. I imagine there will be little beads of perspiration rolling down chests as readers dive into the sexy works the incomparable Tenille Brown has assembled. And one of those is “Melanie’s Choice” by Medea Mor, which you can take a taste of here. I guarantee…it won’t be enough.

Thirty lashes. That’s what she’d get if Steve caught her in the act. Thirty lashes with an implement of his choice, or fifty if she didn’t tell him and he found out anyway. 

Not that Melanie cared. She’d been horny all day. In the morning, she had woken up with her hand between her thighs, stroking herself without even being aware of it. At work, she’d found herself pressing a highlighter between her legs while drawing up her report, squeezing her thigh muscles around it as if it were a cock ready to invade. Neither action had given her any relief. Nor had it been supposed to, because she didn’t have Steve’s permission to come, not without him present. 

They had rules, he and she. Many rules, the most important one being that Melanie wasn’t allowed to orgasm unless Steve had given her permission to do so. Her orgasms belonged to him, he’d informed her when she had first moved in with him, and seeing as he tended to be generous with them, she seldom felt the need to disobey him. 

Today was an exception, though. Fourteen days without Steve had sorely tested her self-control. Sitting alone on their sofa every night, Melanie had realized just how vital his presence was to her well-being, how lost and restless she felt without him there to add structure to her life and push her buttons. 

As his two weeks’ absence had drawn to a close, she’d grown impatient for his return, and now that it was imminent, the anticipation was positively killing her. And so it was that, when she’d gotten home that night and changed into the skimpy schoolgirl uniform he’d told her to wear on the evening of his return (sans underwear, naturally), she’d found herself gravitating to the black box under the TV, which was innocently labeled DVDs but really contained the majority of their not inconsiderable collection of naughty toys. 

She’d resisted the urge at first. She’d told herself that she could hold out a few more hours, until he stepped through the door and had his wicked way with her. She’d told herself that he wouldn’t have kept her on edge for so long unless he was planning something special upon his return, something that would make the long wait worthwhile. But it was no use. She needed the release, and she needed it now.