Sex & Drugs


Featuring stories by Rachel Mann, Aimee Mepham, Hannah Harper, Paul Blaney and Rachel Kramer Bussel; read by actors Maggie Lacey, Seth James, Alex C. Ferrill, Kristen Calgaro, and Rachel Grundy. Hosted by Andrew Lloyd-Jones and Elizabeth Murray at KGB Bar on 1st August 2012. 

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Foot and Mouth

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

Shiny silver bondage tape. Dangling bells at the ends of matching nipple clamps. A black leather paddle. A Wartenberg wheel, that tiny, mean, metal medical implement. Pink feathers. And an evil grin. I shiver not so much because Bennett has those sadistic items in his hands, save for the last, which he sported on his lips, but because I can already feel the sticky heat of the tape trapping my mouth, the brush of the light feathers against the overly sensitive skin under my arms, the wheel winding its maddening way along my tender, ticklish soles. Even more than those inanimate objects that my man loves to animate, though, it’s him who makes me shiver. Bennett knows even better than I that he and he alone can make me stay stock-still, can make me tremble in fear and arousal so closely combined I have no idea where one starts and the other stops...

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The Strangers' Graveyard

by Aimee Mepham

It was nearly dawn when Jakob woke me with a knock on my door and asked me to go with him to the girl. My head, as it was most mornings, was a kicked hive. My brow felt clammy and throbbed against the door, but I said I would join him. If Jakob’s grave voice from the hallway was any indication, I was unlikely to need any of my instruments. I mixed myself the usual morning tincture, tied the sash of my dressing gown, and waited a quiet moment for the laudanum to take effect. I dabbed my face and neck with my handkerchief, opened the door, and followed Jakob down the hall.


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Sex No Good?

by Paul Blaney

‘Dad, I’m getting a divorce.’

‘Sex no good?’ he fired back in his tobacco-dry drawl.

I felt a wave of indignation; only, five seconds later—probably it was the joint I’d smoked—the wave collapsed. I laughed till I was gasping like an asthmatic.

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by Hannah Harper

He wondered if she’d noticed yet. Sometimes he could get away with it - for a little bit, anyway - as she bucked underneath him, willing pleasure on. He was amazed actually, at how often he did get away with it. Couldn’t she feel it? Going all soft? Stuffing it into her, bendy and useless, like it was the lop-ears on the beanie baby rabbit she had propped on their dressing table. Beady eyes judging him as they did it on the bed.

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by Rachel Mann

The sound of iPhone church bells jolts me awake. Running my hands over my breasts and belly, I search for evidence of what I saw in my dream. Disappointment. The slender girl in a tight dress, lips brushing with a square-jawed stranger, was someone else. She is not me.

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