How to get a free copy of my next book, Filthy Housewives

My next erotica collection Filthy Housewives ($3.89) is an anthology of seven written-to-order stories, and all profits are split with the authors; we all put tons of love into it, and I’m thrilled with every inch of it.

Amazon made the book available for pre-order yesterday — it’s a 100% indie production! My former publisher Cleis Press sold their back catalog (books belonging to me and some of the authors in Filthy Housewives) without telling any of us, and did some really bad things to us before the sale to try and get us to give up more of our digital rights. My last book with Cleis is Best Women’s Erotica 2015 and I have declined their request to do Best Women’s Erotica 2016. This new book, Filthy Housewives, is the beginning of a new direction for those of us who were deceived (and in the end, bullied and threatened) by the former owners of Cleis Press, and it’s a positive, celebratory way for us authors and editors to start a new chapter. Needless to say, I’m honored to be working with, and for these amazing authors, who are true artists that deserve respect, creative freedom, and no-bullshit compensation for their art.

There’s a way you can help support our efforts and get a free copy of Filthy Housewives before it’s available to the public: I’ll trade 10 Amazon reviewers a .pdf copy of the book for an honest review on its Kindle page. Just email me, it’s that easy! Then, write a review of any length within a week — before the book goes on sale November 14th.

Send your email to violet at tinynibbles dot com and I’ll get your copy to you quicker than you can say ‘yay indies’!

So you can see what Filthy Housewives is all about, the introduction is below. As you’ll see, it’s a lot more than your usual erotica collection. I hope you like what we’ve been cooking up!

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INTRODUCTION: Modern Wifecraft

After over a decade of editing erotic anthologies, publishing literally hundreds of writers, and more submissions than I dare recount, you might say that I’m a bit picky when it comes to erotica.

Truthfully, I’m a lot picky. Which is why, after ending my ten-year run editing the prestigious (and award-snatching) series Best Women’s Erotica, I wanted to do some very specific things with the erotica collections I’d envisioned and always wanted to make.

Don took me into Kurt’s line, and then he put a packet of mints on the storm-gray conveyor belt. That was all we had. The woman in front of us paid for her groceries—what a lot of cat food she had—and Don smiled at Kurt as the youth rang up our solitary item.

“Can you take a break?” Don asked.

There was nobody behind us. The other checkers seemed to have the traffic flow under control.

“Sure, Sir. Did you…” he looked at the small container of mints. “Did you need help with your groceries?” He asked this with a straight face.

Don laughed. “No, of course not. I need to teach my wife a lesson, and I’d like your help.” Kurt’s gaze flickered over me. I’d had a day already, and it was only eleven in the morning. I wondered what I looked like. Could he tell I’d already been paddled in front of my boss? Could he guess that my ass was throbbing under my clothes? Could he smell that I was so turned on I could have lit someone’s cigarette just by blowing on it?

Kurt turned off the number on his check stand and went over to the manager’s office at the rear of the store.

–Alison Tyler, “Out Of Luck”

Those things are all in Filthy Housewives. The list begins with my desire to handpick writers: the best of today’s erotic authors, focused on areas in which they excel. Authors who are hungry for making a story compelling, imbued with the values savvy erotica readers demand to craft sex-positive, consent- conscious, intense sexual fantasies with characters that make sense, and worlds that wholly lack the sexist trappings of erotic smut that we usually turn to for wilder fantasies.

Next, I wanted to assemble highly literary smutfests on specific topics, ones that address a central turn-on. Like the deviant, crafty modern wife. What happens when we introduce her to the usual wife-themed fantasies? Well, she gets what she wants—and sometimes what she deserves, in the best of ways. And so do we.

“Marcus,” I called down the stairs. “Can you help me out up here?”

“I thought you had Thad,” my husband called back after a moment. I could hear the sound of jazz playing.

I motioned for Thad to come closer to me. I slid one hand into his pants and started to touch his cock. “I do have Thad,” I yelled back. “I have his big hard cock in my hand.”

There was a blast of happy notes as a horn player took a solo. I waited and then called down. “When he’s done fucking me, he’s going to fuck you.”

The music abruptly went off.

I heard footsteps on the stairs. I hurried to push Thad down on the bed. Marcus moved faster than I expected. He was suddenly there, right by the bed, as I shifted aside my copper-colored panties and began to lower myself on Thad’s glorious dick.

“What… what’s going on?” Marcus asked.

I pushed my hips up and then slid down Thad’s pole. “I’m fucking Thad,” I said.

–Ameilia Monroe, “The Professor’s Wife”

I’ve been calling what the women in these stories do “modern wifecraft” in my head all throughout working on this book, from the first sketches of these stories to the back and forth with the authors, all the way until today’s finishing touches and final markups from the editors. You may think it’s a nod to “witchcraft.” Or perhaps it conjures visions of a secret agent wife, trading her daily wifecraft for a three-letter-agency’s tradecraft for its best spies.

Both are correct. The fantasy that we might all possess their capacity for sexual voraciousness and courage to reach for the brass rings within our own secrets. And our dream of that partner in crime who rises to the challenge of meeting us there, in our sexual secrets.

It’s a sublime fantasy, the suburban housewife endowed with extraordinary sexual adventures, and we get vicarious empowerment from these fantasies. It’s a rush that’ll make you want to cross and uncross your legs while reading, I assure you.

“Jesus,” says Raymond softly. We have never done anything kinky together. In our four-year marriage, we’ve only ever fucked in the dark. This has always confused me. Here we live in paradise. He could have taken me outside, by the reflecting pond. He could have screwed me in our mirrored dining room or in the massive shower with the four big heads. Instead, he has treated me like one of his treasured objets d’art. With kid gloves. With reverence. But never the way I want.

“What do you think about the way she looks?”

Raymond doesn’t seem to have an answer to that. At least, not right away. I hear the sound of his glass being set on the coffee table. I hear him walking around me.

“She looks…” he starts, “she looks…” he tries again, “she looks so fucking sexy.” His voice is hoarse.

I sag with relief, that is, until Della continues: “Did you know she likes anal sex?”

Raymond seems to realize he’s supposed to respond, because he clears his throat and says, “No. We’ve never done that.”

–Tasha Waters, “Home Sweet Home”

The filthy housewife is a guilty pleasure fantasy, and an immortal vehicle for all kinds of porny flights of fancy. Thank goodness for that, because we need all the permission to dwell on the forbidden we can get these days.

The filthy housewives between these pages take us by the hand and grant us permission to go with them, further than we’d go in real life. All the way until we’re red reading this book on the subway or plane, or we can’t wait to send a chapter or read a snippet aloud to someone we’d like to fuck. And that’s the point.

So when Max showed up like that before I’d even poured the white wine, I felt mortified. How could I be expected to watch what was going on in the neighborhood if I couldn’t keep control of the comings-and-goings in my own house?

With all eyes on him, he checked his watch and stammered, “I didn’t realize…”

“You didn’t realize that you’d ignored what your wife told you?” Tammy sneered at him. I turned to look at her, surprised by her tone.

“You didn’t realize that if you came to the meeting, you’d have to dress like a lady?” asked Betsey. My head swiveled in her direction. I felt as if I were watching a tennis match, one in which Max was the ball.

“You didn’t realize that we were going to strip you down and use your cock for our own pleasure?”

Max’s face showed his emotions clearly. He seemed as shocked as I was— but he also looked interested. What man wouldn’t be? Four women were eying him as if he were the best bit of beefcake they’d ever seen.

“If you want to stay,” said Tammy, “you’ll have to pay the price.”

–Jewel Rodriguez, “Neighborhood Wives Watch”

As many of my regular readers know, I used to review porn for a living. And I wrote all about it, in a book for women who watch porn and in many articles for major magazines about those women, and what people think it all means. Oprah had me come on her show and talk about it, and then hang out with her and her audience for a morning of Q and A about porn, and women, and what we think of porn.

One thing we all agreed on: porn generally sucks. Fifty Shades is a joke and an insult, but we all read it. And why not, it’s like the porno-fanfic version of a bag of chips: we keep eating even though we know it’ll make our stomachs hurt later. It’s better than the porn version of a healthy snack—but why not just make some good litporn instead?

So that’s what we set out to do, myself and the authors of Filthy Housewives. We made the porn we want to see.

Seriously? Shakespeare Tan. Someone got paid to create that name. Think about that for a moment.

The truth was that I didn’t care. Sheila knew I didn’t care. I’d gone beyond pretending to care.

I answered the call with an impatient sigh, I’ll admit that. The (paint) chips were down, so to speak. I was fifty shades past the ability to comment. And I stayed that way. Because what I saw when the Skype window opened was Sheila tied to our antique four-poster bed. There were three men in the room, men I’d never seen before.

One was dark-haired and tall, with vibrantly colored tattoos spiraling all over his pale skin. Another had blond hair to his shoulders and was what I’d consider a surfer type, a real all-American stud. The last was slightly off- screen.

I could only see his big dick aimed right at my wife’s face.

“Hi, Honey,” Sheila said, and she flittered her fingers at me. She couldn’t actually wave. Not tied down like that.

–Dante Davidson, “Eggshell, Ecru and Linen”

I think it’s really interesting that both witchcraft shows and spycraft shows are growing in popularity, at a time when lots of us—in all genders and orientations—are reclaiming porn from the people who produce crap, and making it our own. The female characters on both witch and spy shows don’t discover their powers until they’re in their 20s—until they’re grown women. These characters started as wallflowers, as skeptics, and yes, as housewives.

What they come to discover is that there is power in sharing their secrets.

From myself, and all the authors who worked to create the people and worlds in Filthy Housewives: We hope you feel as turned on and powerful sinking into the fantasies in this collection as strongly as the love, hotness and mirth we all poured into it.

Violet Blue
San Francisco

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Filthy Housewives: TABLE OF CONTENTS

Introduction: Modern Wifecraft by Violet Blue
Out Of Luck by Alison Tyler
Kinking The Classics: The Maple Old Fashioned
The Professor’s Wife by Amelia Monroe
Good Housekeeping: Tips For Household Bondage
Home Sweet Home by Tasha Waters
Kinking The Classics: The Very Dirty Martini
Picture Perfect by Emilie Paris
Good Housekeeping: Tips For Kitchen Spankings
Neighborhood Wives Watch by Jewel Rodriguez
Kinking The Classics: The Planter’s Punch
Remote Controlled by Melanie Daniels
Good Housekeeping: Tips For Cleaning Your Toys
Eggshell, Ecru, And Linen by Dante Davidson
About the Authors
About the Editor