The Dominant Male

Introduction – Peter Birch
    When I was asked to put together a collection of erotic short stories my first thought was to assemble a stable of the finest possible authors. Fortunately, after more than twenty years as a writer and editor of erotica I already had a pretty good idea of who I ought to be talking to, from the best known writers in the genre to those obscure figures who hide their identity from the public eye so that they can allow full rein to their fertile imaginations. These include both men and women, new stars and old hands, those who have lived the life and those whose ideas come purely from the mind’s eye.
    All but the most insular of us met up in a pub once frequented by Aleister Crowley, which seemed appropriate, and after much discussion of what they wanted to write and what the mighty Random House would allow them to write I was able to commission a series of six short-story collections. The first of these came out under the title of The Master , and I now present the second, The Dominant Male , taking the same theme of male-dominant sex, but with stronger content and less familiar settings.
    By comparison with most modern erotica imprints I’d been given a very free hand, in keeping with the traditions of the Nexus imprint of which the collection was to form a part. The result is a collection of stories with both variety and depth, while many are also very intense and include the sort of material that was once the mainstay of erotica but has sadly fallen victim to the grey hand of politically correct morality. Fantasy is fantasy, and every individual should have the right to express their erotic imaginings as they please, with as few taboos as is practically possible.
    Arbella Silkstone is the pen name of one of our more mysterious contributors, and all I’m allowed to say is that this is a woman who lives the life, accepting tight-lacing and domestic discipline in the way most of us accept phishing and mobile phones. Despite her reclusive lifestyle in the Cambridgeshire fens, she is a prolific authoress and has provided us with three stories, all set in the world of unyielding masters and pretty, obedient maids she would like to inhabit.
    We also have three contributions from Guy Masterleigh. Guy is a player first and a writer second, but his extraordinary breadth of experience gives him an almost unrivalled appreciation of the less familiar aspects of human sexuality. When you read his stories, you are meeting real people and sharing the most intimate details of their private lives.
    Then there’s Paul Scott, bringing up the tail with two examples guaranteed to delight anybody with a taste for uninhibited erotica and especially well-suited to those who’ve come to love the old Nexus style. This is no surprise, as Paul Scott is the pen name of a long-established writer and editor whose open-minded attitudes and distaste for censorship ensure that he never fails to satisfy. I hope you enjoy the stories.

Chastity – Arbella Silkstone
    ‘This is the new girl, my lady. Her name is Hannah,’ Prudence said, bobbing a curtsy.
    Hannah kept her eyes downcast respectfully, and in order to avoid staring, for Lady Beatrice was a sight to draw a stare, resplendent in a ferociously tight-laced corset of white satin cut so low that it left her full breasts uncovered. The filmy, feather-trimmed négligée that she had neglected to fasten at the front served only to display very considerable charms.
    ‘Hannah?’ Lady Beatrice said languidly. ‘No, no I don’t think so. She looks more like a Chastity to me, what with that innocent face and angelic blonde hair. But we have Chastity, don’t we?’
    ‘No, my lady. If you recall, the last one went up to Cloudsley Hall, to serve Lord Purslane.’
    Lady Beatrice’s delicately sculpted nose wrinkled in distaste. ‘Oh yes,’ she said sharply. ‘Piquet, such a stupid game. Oh well, I suppose the name was rather tempting fate.’ A malicious gleam entered her emerald eyes, ‘Well, we shall tempt it again. I shall call you Chastity, girl. Answer to no other. Do you understand?’
    Hannah felt her ears burn, but she managed to bob respectfully. ‘Yes, my lady,’ she said, unable to control a furious blush.
    ‘How tall are you, Chastity?’ Lady Beatrice demanded.
    ‘Five… five feet eight inches my lady – I think.’
    ‘Too tall. Far too tall. If Horace sees a girl so shapely and so pretty and so long of limb… well ! If you run into my