From the Top Shelf - Incurable

The opening passage of "Incurable Romantic"* by Lisabet Sarai has a certain appeal. I think you'll like it.

She is. Without a doubt, the perfect slave.

I should know. I've trained half a dozen slaves over the last twenty years, and played with perhaps half a hundred more.

In Minneapolis? you ask, incredulous. The law-abiding, church-going, vanilla-flavored heartland?

Why would I lie? I'm past the point where I have to prove myself. We have our own kinky little community here, invisible to those who don't want to see, obvious to the initiates who know the signs.

Like Ilsa's collar. If you weren't one of us, and you happened to notice it, you might think it's one of those choker necklaces so popular with the Britney Spears set. It's braided black leather, strung with tiny diamonds. You might be expecting a matching diamond stud piercing her navel.

If you truly paid attention, though, you might recognize something unusual in the way Ilsa wears it. She holds her head exceptionally high, her back straight, her graceful neck extended, showing the collar off like a badge of honor...

She never removes it. The candlelight makes it sparkle, now, as I gaze on her naked, bound beauty. Her wrists are roped together and fastened to the hook in the ceiling. A few red-gold locks have escaped from her barrette and trail down her back, contrasting with the darker red of the stripes my whip has carved in her tender flesh. Her creamy skin is flushed and damp with sweat.

Unfortunately, the rest of the story is about a completely vanilla encounter, and was rather a disappointment.


*From The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica, Volume 8, edited by Maxim Jakubowski.