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“A man would have to be dead to not be affected by you.” FREE READ

26 Oct

by Elizabeth SaFleur

In the #MeToo era I’ve often wondered if the alpha male in romance will fall by the wayside, like Jackson Reese, my domineering corporate boardroom hero who loves earning a woman’s submission. [[Dramatic pause.]] Nah. Below is a free read, Jackson, where an alpha male rules. Enjoy!

Jackson Reese doesn’t have time for romantic complications—but Dana makes him an offer he can’t refuse.

Jackson Reese enjoys his freedom, and his normal evening date is a tumbler of scotch. When his colleague, Dana Moore, reveals her nights are emptier than Jackson’s morning liquor bottles, he changes his plans. He knows a submissive in need when he encounters one, and her need runs deeper than he could have imagined.

Warnings: Adult, erotic content (18+ only), NSFW, D/s situation. I also cannot be responsible for the desire to have your garters snapped after reading this little ditty.


Jackson

Jackson Reese cracked the stack of papers in his hands on the conference table, aligning the edges to perfection. Today was a good day. This afternoon his negotiating skills won his environmental law firm a new client—the largest biofuels manufacturing plant in the country.

His opponent, a man in a cheap gray suit, stood and extended his hand. “Pleasure to do business, Mr. Reese.”

“Yes.” He returned his handshake, heartily. His manners would not be undone, even if the man’s weakness provided him with a too-easy victory for his taste. Jackson enjoyed a good fight, and Gray Suit provided none. He reminded himself to take the win, regardless.

The man turned to his colleague, Dana Moore, a tall brunette in an equally concrete-colored suit that did nothing for her pale skin. He never understood why women in Washington felt they had to dress like men.

“A copy of the signed agreement will be sent over later today,” Jackson said.

“Really, Jackson. It’s seven p.m. Don’t you ever stop working?” Dana’s mouth quirked up into a smirk.

“Not really. Sharon will show you out.” His legal secretary held open the conference room door. She knew to hustle them from the premises as quickly as possible. Once negotiations were over, his tolerance for small talk vanished. Besides, he had a date with a bottle of Scotch.

“Buy you a drink?” Gray Suit asked.

“Another time.” He widened the door opening.

“Dana, this way.” The man’s harsh tone toward the woman unnerved him.

After he let the door swing click shut, blessed silence washed away his budding headache. He ran through the meeting in his mind again, replaying his win like a meditation.

Dana’s face kept interrupting his reflection. Why was she even at the meeting? Gray Suit interrupted her whenever she opened her mouth. He rarely ran into sexism these days. It jarred his nerves when he did. Dana was annoying, but she wasn’t stupid. He’d learned that from running into her—repeatedly.

Lately, she showed up at too many places he frequented—charity events, the Kennedy Center, even in line at Starbucks one day. But as the wife of an Ohio state Senator—and a trophy lobbyist of the firm that he’d just secured as a client—he had to be polite.

At least she hadn’t breached his private space, Club Accendos, his secret weekend retreat. Dana Moore tied to a St. Andrews Cross. Now there’s a vision.

He walked to the wall of windows overlooking Pennsylvania Avenue. The September sky has turned purple, and the string of red taillights on the road below signaled rush hour was far from over. Traffic would be bad tonight. Perhaps he’d head over to Accendos and not wait for the weekend. Surely someone would be interested in a little pick-up play—his favorite anecdote to a night otherwise spent alone.

He scratched his five o’clock shadow and engaged in his evening ritual—mentally running through his plans for tomorrow. The day would be filled with back-to-back meetings.

“You drive a hard bargain, Jackson Reese.” Dana’s voice broke through his thoughts and the sacred silence.

He turned and caught a whiff of her Chanel perfume. “Something else I can help you with Mrs. Moore?”

“I’m afraid our negotiations left me a little . . . unsatisfied.”

“Oh?” Here we go. He knew where her teasing was headed. Whenever he ran into Dana, she’d press her cheek against his face in an oh-so-Washington-acceptable, non-kiss. She’d breathe on his neck as if the heat would warm him to attraction. He wondered what flirtatious gesture she’d graduate to tonight.

“Where’s your colleague?”

“With any luck half way down Constitution in a taxi cab. You haven’t answered my texts.” She stood before him before he could move away.

“I don’t look at my phone during meetings. It’s rude.”

“Ah. I knew your silence wasn’t a ‘no.’”

He grasped her hands before they could connect with his chest. “Excuse me. Paperwork awaits.” He placed her hands against her sides.

Before he could sidestep her, she grabbed his crotch. He tensed and chose to stand stock still. “That’s not the best way to get my attention,” he said.

“Oh? What is?” She gently cupped his balls.

He looked down at her hand and peeled her fingers from the front of his trousers. “Tell me, where is your husband, Mrs. Moore?” He emphasized her married title in case she’d forgotten her status.

She pulled her hand away from his grip. “Who cares?” Her smile faded into pure boredom, a look demonstrated by too many Washington wives.

She sat back on the conference room table and crossed her arms. “Tell me, Mister Reese. I’m too forward for you? You only like submissive women, weak, who melt at your feet?

“If you’ll excuse me, Mrs. Moore—”

“Don’t call me that. It’s my title. It’s not who I am.”

“That’s a shame. Perhaps you should take on a new title.”

A feline smile stretched across her face. “That’s what I’m trying to do right now.”

“No, you’re trying to fill up your night because you have nothing else to do.”

The sides of her mouth dropped to a flat line. “I have plenty of places I could go.”

He stepped aside and gestured to the door. “Good, because I don’t get involved with married women.”

She lifted her chin and stood. “And if I was single?”

“I would see you as a beautiful, successful woman.”

“You should run for office. Only you could make a compliment sound like a dismissal.”

“I’m a Washington attorney.”

“And a handsome, successful man.” Her hand landed on his chest, stopping his advance toward the door. “I won’t blackmail you if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“The thought never occurred.” Oh, yes, it did. Washington lived off traded favors. He, however, made it a point to never owe anyone anything.

She took a deep breath and steeled her voice. “I know all about you Jackson Reese. You like to make women . . . do things.”

“I don’t make anyone do anything.” He caught her wrists before she could connect with any part of his body again.

Her voice hitched and she smiled. “So strong, Jackson.” She twisted her hands from his grip. “You don’t like to be touched unless you initiate the advance? Isn’t that the game?” She chuffed and stepped back. “Perhaps you’re not man enough for me.” She lifted her chin, a move he particularly hated in women.

She turned slowly. Too slowly. She wanted him to stop her? Too bad.

“Reverse psychology doesn’t work on me, Mrs. Moore,” he said to her back.

She turned sharply. “I told you not to call me that.”

“I do not get involved with married women.”

“I’m not asking for involvement.”

“I don’t have casual sex, either.”

“God, Jackson you sound like a 1950s housewife.” She lowered her voice. “Not at all like the Dominant I expected given your status at Accen—”

“Excuse me?”

She smiled. “Oh, yes, I know all about you and your secret little boy’s club. Come now.” She stepped forward, her hand connecting to his chest—again. “Show me what you got.”

He couldn’t help himself. He laughed.

A muscle twitched in her cheek. “You don’t think you can dominate me, do you?”

“No, I don’t think you can submit to me.”

“Oh, a challenge. But what if I told you I was sincere.” She stepped backward. “I’m interested.”

“I’m not.”

“Please.”

“I don’t believe you. Why are you really here?” Deep interest replaced his curiosity. Information about his secret sexual life was not easily obtained. He’d find out who leaked any information about them. But, first, he had to know her motives.

Was this part of some retaliation for his rebuffs of her advances? No, his ego wasn’t that big. Washington was full of powerful, attractive men.

Blackmail? If Dana knew who he was—and had proof—she could destroy him. She would have offered terms by now. Something else was at play.

Experimenting? It was the only reason he could fathom why someone like Dana Moore would be interested in any power dynamic other than the one she’d already amassed. She was a good-looking woman, still in her prime years, with a successful position, and married to a powerful man. She has to be bored, that’s all.

A heavy sigh escaped her lips. “Does it matter why?”

“Yes.” He crossed his arms.

“I want to know what it’s like.” Her tone was so sincere, he almost believed her. Almost.

“I don’t get involved with dilettantes,” he said.

A bolt of pain flashed across her face, hard and fast like a crack across a porcelain vase. It was gone as fast as it came, and her smooth mask return to its perfection.

“Mrs. Moore, when you go home tonight, you tell Mister Moore—”

“Please, please, stop calling me that,” she spat.

“Why should I?”

She laughed heartily. “Because my husband isn’t interested in me, Mr. Reese. Nor any woman.” She looked out at the Washington skyline and hissed between her teeth. “It’d be easier if he’d just have damned affairs like everyone else in this town. Of course, he probably is. Just not with anyone I could compete with. Divorce papers are next.”

Jackson crossed his arms. “Why are you telling me such privileged information?”

“So you have one of my secrets like I have one of yours. You like dominating women. My husband doesn’t even see them.”

So Senator Moore was gay? Who cared? Except Jackson learned long ago unsatisfied women were dangerous women. Angry men may start wars. But frustrated women could implode planets. And, Dana looked ready to hit something or someone. Well, it wouldn’t be him.

“Move on then,” he said.

“Oh, we are. We’re legally separated but waiting until after the election for the announcement. You of all people should know a divorce in an election year is an impossibility. He’s barely holding on in the polls. Besides, we make a good team when we’re focused on work.”

“Doesn’t sound like much of a team if he’s batting for the competition.”

She laughed again. “I didn’t know you had a sense of humor, Jackson.” Her shoulders dropped and she chewed her lip.  “I want to see what it’s like to be . . . more.”

He grasped her by the shoulders and lurched her closer to him. She gasped as he ran his hands down her back and her sides.

“You think I’m wired.” Honest shock colored her face.

“Yes.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that you have trust issues?”

“Everyday. Now tell me the truth.”

“I did. I want to know what it’s like . . . not to experiment. But to be the sole focus of . . . someone. Even temporarily.”

“Go on.”

“I can keep thinking about what I don’t have or act. I need to know what I’m missing.” She shifted on her heels and a flash of vulnerability crossed her face. “Maybe next time I’ll choose someone more . . . compatible.”

Holy shit. Dana was serious.

He stepped backward and looked at his watch. “I’ve got one hour.” He must be half-crazed out of his mind to do anything with this woman. But the enigmatic story of Dana Moore gnawed at his insides. No bars enslaved a man more than the unknown—and Jackson Reese didn’t do mystery. Add the injustice of her situation and Jackson found himself compelled to help her.

She straightened. “One night.”

“One hour.” He grasped her chin and lowered it. “No sex. Nonnegotiable. And you’ll do what I say.”

“That’s the point, isn’t it?”

He huffed a half laugh willing to let her indulge in bravado a bit longer. Then he walked over to the conference room door and clicked the lock.

“Dana, what is your maiden name?”

“Strickland. Why?”

“That’s your safeword. I presume you know what that is.”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now go to the end of the room.”

“Being punished already?”

“No games, Dana.”

“So serious, Mr. Reese.” She uncharacteristically wobbled a little as she walked. She was scared. Okay, she didn’t like mystery, either. Tough.

“Take off your dress. The color does nothing for you. Drop it on the floor. Yes, Dana, you likely have ten others like it at home,” he said to her incredulous face.

As she shed her god-awful dress, she revealed a beautiful lingerie set, including garter belt and stockings. Unexpected, but welcomed.

“You came prepared,” he said.

Her skin flushed a deep crimson.

“Turn and look at me.”

She pivoted and immediately crossed her arms over her ample breasts captured in a surprisingly feminine bra. White lace. Yes, very nice.

“Don’t hide yourself. Show me what you chose to wear for me.” After she lowered her arms to her side, he cocked his head and looked. Really looked. How could no one admire this woman? Jackson appreciated any woman who kept herself in such fine form as Dana. The mystery deepened.

“Take down your hair.”

After shaking her bun free, her long brunette hair reflected flashes of ambient city lights streaming in from the long wall of windows.

“You should wear your hair down more.”

She huffed. “I’m not sixteen anymore.”

“Thank God.” After clicking off the lights, he shed himself of his jacket. He rolled his shirt sleeves to bare his wrists. He removed his watch. Each movement deliberate and slow. Dana’s face grew more pale with each action.

He had pledged himself to uphold all the laws of safe, sane and consensual play. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t let a little intimidation create the right mood. Dana wanted to try on submission, well, he’d use all means at his disposal to have her feel that loss of control.

He stood at the head of the table and laid his hands on the smooth surface.

“Get on the table. Hands and knees.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Seriously?”

“That’s the last time you’ll argue with me.”

As she bent over the table, a curtain of chestnut silk fell in her face. One knee and then the other connected with the glass, her stockings easily gliding her into position. Yes, very nice. Without that steely suit and severe hairstyle, Dana was quite the looker. His cock jolted alive for the first time all day.

He walked to where she knelt on the table. His hand slid down the side of her head, silky strands soft under his palm. “You have remarkable hair.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He continued to run her smooth locks through his fingers. She grew more jittery under his touches. “You’re a grown woman with grown-up needs. No need to feel ashamed about enjoying being petted.” A thought flitted across his mind. “Yes, that’s what I’m going to call you. My pet.”

A small sliver of anger flashed in her eyes.

“You can choose to take it as society tells you.” He leaned close to her ear. “Or how I meant it.”

He walked back to the head of the table but remained standing by his chair. Dana faced him on the opposite side, kneeling with her breasts rising in fell in shaky breaths.

“What should I call you?” she asked.

“Titles don’t interest me right now. What does interest me is your fantasy.”

“I don’t—”

“Yes, you do. Given your situation, you have a bank of fantasies you rely on.”

She sighed and gazed out the window. He sighed in return. It was going to be a long night if she continued to indulge in her nerves. She asked for this scenario. Yet he’d have to help her along. “Where does he place his hands on you?”

Her eyes darted to his face. “Everywhere.” She answered without hesitation. Ah, so she did fantasize about someone.

“Specifics, Dana.”

“He grabs my hands and—and pushes my wrists. . .”

“Overhead.”

“Yes.”

Dana Moore dreamt about being overpowered? Hardly a ringing endorsement she cared for submission. Her fantasies could mean she wanted aggressive sex, not loss of control. He knew only one true way to find out.

“Crawl to me. Slowly, pet.”

She hesitated.

“Dana.”

She lowered to her arms and moved forward. In the dim light he caught flashes of a crystal rosette at the center of her bra. She could afford the best after all. He pushed the thought aside that she had no one to admire such finery from his mind and concentrated on the woman before him. Yes, the woman. The thought occurred he’d never considered Dana a woman prior to five minutes ago.

Halfway across the table, she stopped and pulled back up to kneeling. “I feel like an idiot.” Her voice trembled.

“You’re beautiful.” He lowered himself to his chair. “Feel me watching you, Dana. Resume.”

Her hands fell to the table once more. She moved forward, her shoulders growing more rigid with each inch forward. He’d never seen a woman so scared—and that was saying something. The courage it must have taken for her to come to him?  Uncharacteristic guilt hit him square in the chest from his earlier, dismissive behavior. He’d been in Washington too long.

He concentrated on her movements, slow, deliberate, and all because he’d asked. The familiar satisfaction of experiencing submission, even as frail as Dana’s, filled his insides.

“Thank you, Dana.”

She looked up at him. “For what?”

“For you.” He ran a finger over his bottom lip. Time to concentrate—on her. “Can you feel the pull of your garter against the back of your thigh? Perhaps I’ll snap it, leave a nice thin red stripe on that ass you hide all day.”

Her breath hitched.

“Is that what you’d like, my little pet? A good smack on the ass?” He laid both hands on the armrests of his chair, wholly aware of the effect his stance held to someone so exposed.

“Maybe,” she whispered.

“You have to get closer to earn such a reward.”

She looked up him, surprised. Her breathing deepened and her chest flushed a deep pink. When she reached his end of the table, she pulled herself up to kneeling. He laid his hands on her thighs. Yes, she definitely shook—but not from fear. He tucked her hair behind her ear and curled his fingers around the shell of her ear. So, she was serious about this experiment.

“Do you know when a woman is most beautiful?” he asked.

“Twenty-five?”

He laughed. “Only a woman would answer that way. No, when she’s being true to herself.”

“So I should walk around in lingerie with my hair down?”

“You already walk around in lingerie, don’t you?” He cupped her chin and raised her gaze to him. “Next time I see you, you’ll wear your hair loose, too.”

“When will that be?”

“I don’t know. So you’ll have to wear it down for a while. Sit up, legs over the edge.”

After she complied he pulled her forward so she perched on the edge. In his peripheral vision he caught their faint reflections in the windows as night had fallen dark and heavy outside. He turned her face so she could see their images.

He twisted a lock of her hair in his hands. “Yes, remarkable.”

She lifted her hands and placed them on his chest. “One hour. Does anyone get more of you?”

“Rarely.” He pulled her off the table and swiveled her so she faced it. She caught herself with her hands. He palmed her behind and leaned toward the ear. “We should make the most of our time together.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“What you’re doing.” He snapped her garter. A puff of air left her lips. He grasped a handful of her hair and pulled her head back. “More, my pet?” he whispered in her ear.

“Yes.”

He laid a sound spank on her ass. She grunted and lurched more over the table. When she tried to move a lock of hair that had dropped forward, he twisted her arm behind her, gently but firmly. Her mouth dropped open. “You don’t need to do anything. Take it in.” He drank in the sight of her cheeks, reddened from his smack.

“Widen those legs. Good.” He dropped his grip and sank down in his chair. “Show me how you touch yourself.”

Without any more prompting, she drew her hand to the inside of her thigh.

“More,” he said. “Very nice. Leave the panties on. I told you I like your choice.”

She gave him her profile, and he caught a glimmer of gratitude in her eyes. His gut lurched a little at how little he’d done and how much she’d already reacted. Was her life so empty? Likely. Here she stood, lapping up his minor attention like a kitten.

He never understood people who settled for scraps. Of course she agreed to marry Senator Moore—and stay married to him. Besides, who was he kidding? Work in Washington often replaced matters of the heart. Perhaps he knew why people settled after all.

But not tonight.

Her fingers had moved under the elastic of her panties. As she stroked herself under the slip of lace, he kept his eyes on her back, now reddening in desire. Her breath accelerated, and she leaned more forward on one arm. When her head fell back, her long hair nearly touched the crack of her ass.

“Stop.” He grew heartened at her growing confidence but he wasn’t ready for her to come.

Air sputtered between her lips.

“Turn around,” he said. “Give me your fingers.”

She withdrew her hand from her panties and turned to face him. Jackson lifted her fingers to his lips. He fought the urge to suckle the wetness from her fingers, settling for flicking his tongue across one tip. She gasped on contact, and her eyes glazed. He expected no more back talk from Dana—only the reality her desire was winning, which meant he was winning.

He grabbed her waist and placed her back on to the conference table. Then he picked up one of her feet and placed it on his cock, now rock hard and uncaring about her marital status.

“You’re having quite the effect on me.” His brain would win this battle, of course. He’d settle for a cold shower later.  “Lean back,” he said.

After she lowered herself on to the table, he leaned over her. His crotch connected with hers. Her glorious hair spread in all directions around her head, forming a chestnut halo. He leaned down, pressing his hands on either side of her shoulders, keeping himself from leaning too much on her body. He’d make no more contact – a contract he had with himself about who he’d get intimate with and who he would not. Unhappy or not, Dana was married and off limits.

“Put your finger inside yourself.”

He didn’t need to see that she’d complied. He could feel her fingers move. She gasped and arched her back.

“Jackson, please.”

“Keep going,”

“I’m not sure I can.” Her eyes had moistened.

He cracked her hard on the side of her ass. A choked cry released from her throat, and her fingers quickened. Ah.

“That’s not the only place he puts his hands, is it?”

“No.” A tear slipped down her cheek to disappear into her hair.

“Where?”

She drew her free hand to the base of her throat, unable to say the words.

Jackson placed his hand on hers. “Do you trust me?”

She nodded.

He nearly encircled her entire neck with his large hand. She released a long breath, her face relaxing. He tightened his grip around her throat. “Now, Dana. Make yourself come.”

A long cry emitted from her throat as she released. Her mouth opened into an oval, her neck arching into his hand. He knew after tonight, he wouldn’t ever see her as beautiful as she was in that moment again.

Her body lay limp on the glass tabletop as he released his grip around her throat. He pulled her up to sitting and ran his fingers through her hair for some minutes. When her breathing returned to normal, he sat her in his chair and retrieved her dress from across the room. She sat dazed.

“Dana?”

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t get embarrassed now.”

“I-I’m not. I’m just . . .” She looked down at her dress, scrunched in her lap. “I don’t want to put this on. Is that silly?”

“Not at all.”

He gave her a glass of water, and they both stared out at the skyline for an hour, unspeaking. When the traffic sounds outside died down to a low hum, she finally spoke. “Weren’t you supposed to beat me or something?”

He laughed. Wait, she’s serious. “No, Dana. I was not supposed to beat you. I was supposed to do what you needed.”

“And that was it?”

“You needed to be seen.”

“That’s not all. Thank you for being . . . affected.”

“A man would have to be dead to not be affected by you.” He turned to face her.

She returned his smile. “I’m not sure what to do next.”

“I do.” He took in a deep breath and pulled a card from his wallet. He handed it to her. “Call me when the ink’s dry on your divorce papers.”

She stared at the card for a long minute and then cocked her head at him.

“And think about what you want. No subtly, Dana. I want specifics.” He still wasn’t convinced Dana had a submissive bone in her body. But he’d help her discover her true proclivities—once divorced. He owed it to her. Her moment of giving herself to him was worth a thousand dates with bottles of Scotch.

She fingered the card. “You’re kind, Jackson Reese.”

“Shhh. Don’t tell anyone.” He winked at her. Jesus, he was flirting? No, he just wanted an unhappy woman to feel better about herself. He had little tolerance for men who mishandled women, and Senator Moore was clearly mishandling his wife if she was reduced to attempted seduction. But what did he know about their marriage? Nothing. And that’s the way he’d keep it.

She sighed. “You sure you couldn’t . . .” Her words stopped when he cupped her cheek.

“Yes, I’m sure. Call me when you’ve decided you are more important than your husband’s career.”

“I think I already have. Now that I have something to look forward to.” She blushed.

“No promises, Dana. And, be very, very sure before you act.” He dropped his hand and stared back at the same skyline. “But when you text me with an image of your signed divorce decree, I’ll answer it.”

~~~The End~~~

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THE RED: Sexy Sunday Snippet by Tiffany Reisz

18 Jun

THE RED is a stand alone Erotic Fantasy Novel by Tiffany Reisz coming out on July 11th.  If you like this excerpt you may want to check out RADISH where the story is being serialized right now.

You want to know more, don’t you?  Read the excerpt below…

WARNING: This excerpt is *very* naughty.  Contains consent play & BDSM

It was near midnight when Mona returned to the gallery. She was eager to see Malcolm again, and even more eager to see what artwork she’d earn from his collection. At least she told herself all she cared about was earning the art, earning money to save The Red Gallery from foreclosure. That she enjoyed earning the money was beside the point. And yet, her step was quick and she’d spent half the day checking the clock.

It was time.

She went to the red door that led to the back room, took a steadying breath, and pushed it open. At once she was seized by rough male hands and dragged into the room. The door slammed behind her and she was pushed against it, her back to it. She tried to scream but a hand covered her mouth.

“Quiet, girl.”

The words came from Malcolm, though he did not look as he did when she’d last seen him. He’d grown a short beard and mustache, which made him look older, even slightly sinister. He held a rope in one hand. So it was to be role play? Very well. She’d given him carte blanche. Anything meant anything. She shouldn’t be shocked or afraid. But she was afraid. She was.

Because they weren’t alone.

With Malcolm’s hand over her mouth she glanced around the room wildly in her panic. Four men in suits stood waiting by a wooden box in the center of the room. All four men wore masquerade masks—one black, one gray, one red, one gold. They were cyphers in their masks, anonymous. Only Malcolm was unmasked.

“Is there a problem with the girl?” one of the men called out, the one in the red mask. His tone was imperious.

“Not at all,” Malcolm said. “I’ve got her.”

“Let’s see her then,” the man in the black mask said. He sounded bored, impatient. “We haven’t got all night.”

Who were these men? She couldn’t ask because Malcolm had ordered her into silence and his hand still covered her mouth.

“Coming,” Malcolm said. “You won’t be disappointed.”

He spun her without warning, turning her back to him. He put his mouth at her ear and whispered, “Do not fight me, girl. Put on a good show. I want a high price for you.”

A good show… He’d told her last time she existed to entertain him. So be it. She nodded and said nothing, though her heart still raced with terror. Would he let all these men fuck her? No. She knew he wouldn’t.

Or did she?

He took her by the arms and pulled her away from the door. He walked behind her, steering her to the center of the room where the four masked men waited. She tried to study their faces but only one lamp was lit, and they were all in shadows. Only the colors of their masks could be clearly seen. She looked at the floor instead.

“On the box,” Malcolm ordered and she stepped up onto the low wooden platform. Malcolm bent and pulled her shoes from her feet, tossing them into the shadows. He stood and mounted the platform behind her.

“Let’s have a look,” the man in the gold mask said and the other masked men nodded their heads in agreement.

Behind her, Malcolm dragged the straps of her purple summer dress down her arms. She wore no bra and she had to force herself not to fight him as he pushed her dress down and let it pool at her feet. In an instant he had a small sharp knife out and he used the blade to cut her panties off her hips and those he tossed into the shadows with her shoes.

She was naked, completely naked, and standing in front of four strange men. Malcolm produced a rope from his jacket pocket and used it to tie her hands in front of her. Then he reached high and she looked up. He’d hung a metal hook from a ceiling beam. With a swift and easy motion that showed he’d done this sort of thing a thousand times before, Malcolm hoisted her hands over her head and secured the ropes on her wrists to the hook.

There was no escape.

Mona wiggled her hands and the men chuckled at the sight of her struggles.

“Here we are, gentlemen,” Malcolm said. “Tonight’s best lot. Take your time. Bid high. She’s worth it.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” the man in the red mask said as he stepped up onto the wooden platform. Malcolm stood behind her, holding her hair in his hand. Mona panted in fear and anticipation. The red-masked man placed his hand on her quivering stomach and stroked her side and hips.

“Very smooth skin,” he said.

“The smoothest you’ll find on the market,” Malcolm said.

The red-masked man took a hard handful of her thigh and gripped it, slapped it. The men watching laughed again.

“The breasts are particularly fine,” Malcolm said. “As you see.”

“I see,” the red-masked man said.

“I don’t,” said another man.

“Then come see for yourself,” Malcolm ordered.

The man in the red mask stepped off the platform and the man in the gold mask stepped on. Without hesitation he groped her right breast with a large strong hand. Mona cried out more in shock than pain. With her hands tied so high, her breasts were exposed and she couldn’t cover them in any way. It was stunning to be touched so intimately by a stranger. He lifted the breast as if to weigh it in his palm, then he pulled the nipple, twisting it a little, teasing and testing it.

“Very nice,” the gold-masked man said, nodding. He shifted to the side and did the same to her left breast. He groped it firmly, squeezed it, lifted and weighed it, before pinching the nipple again, tugging it, and letting it go. “How’s the ass?”

“See for yourself.” Malcolm turned her so that her back was to the gold-masked man. She felt a hand on her backside, rubbing her from her hip to her upper thigh.

“A full ass,” the man said, pleased, as he rubbed. “Soft but not too soft.” He slapped it once and Mona gasped, gasped again when he gripped it in both hands and squeezed it, then pinched it. “Young firm flesh. My favorite.”

“I told you she was worth the money,” Malcolm said.

It was unbearable, being treated like this, treated like chattel. She burned hot with shame and humiliation. Tears stung her eyes. Her breathing was labored and her arms ached. She wanted to cover herself so badly.

“We have to see the cunt first,” another man said. “You know that.”

“Of course,” Malcolm said, laughing. “Of course you have to see the cunt.”

“Let’s see it then.”

Mona groaned as Malcolm turned her to face the four men again. Two of them stepped onto the platform, the man in the black mask and the man in the red mask. Each of them took one of her legs in his hands and hoisted her off her feet. They held her thighs open, her feet dangling helplessly in mid-air, her sex open and exposed. The man in the gray mask stepped forward. He didn’t stand on the platform. He was at eye level with her vulva.

She shivered and moaned as the man in the gray mask extended his hand and lightly touched her pubic lips.

“Exquisite,” he said. “Well-formed.”

“Tight too,” Malcolm said. “But she can take anything you want to give her.”

She saw the hint of a smile on the gray mask’s lips. With his thumb and forefinger, he opened the inner folds of her vulva, revealing the hole, the entrance to her body. He slipped one finger into it.

“And wet. Very wet,” the man in the gray mask said. It was true. Humiliating but true. For all her shame and fear, she was undeniably aroused as well. The man inserted a second finger into her and spread the two fingers wide in a V. She felt herself opening. It was a violation of the sanctity of her body. Why did she relish it?

“What have we here…” the man said as he pushed his fingertip into a deep hollow inside her, near the pubic bone. He pushed hard into the hollow, poked the hollow, prodded at it, teased the delicate dancing nerves. “I can feel her pulse right here. Very rapid.”

“Let me feel it,” the man in the gold mask said. She was empty again but only for a moment, as the gold-masked man put his finger into her and found that same little hollow along the back wall. Her head fell back onto Malcolm’s shoulder as the man in the gold man fingered and fondled her while she hung in the air, spread out and on display. The man in the gold mask examined her clitoris as well, kneeling in front of her and pulling up the tiny hood of flesh to see the organ. It was swollen and she hated herself for that. She hated it all, hated being held, being opened, being examined and displayed…

Oh, but she loved it too.

As the man in the gold mask continued to spread out and probe her sex, the man in the black mask turned his attention to her mouth. She struggled against Malcolm’s shoulder as the man pried her lips apart.

“Don’t bite,” he chided as he stuck a finger into her mouth. She felt it against her teeth. He was counting them, she could tell. But when he was done, he left his finger pressed lightly against her tongue. Now they’d made her mute. A hand that belonged to someone, she didn’t know which man, grasped her breast again and cupped it roughly. A hot mouth latched onto her other nipple and sucked it hard. The fingers worked inside her sex, stroking and rubbing and opening her up wider and wider. She heard the sounds of her own intense wetness. Her labia were pulled and tugged like her nipples, lightly slapped before he, whoever it was this time, pushed his fingers into her again. Three fingers this time, or was it four? She couldn’t tell anymore. She was dripping with need. Five men and their mouths and their hands were all together touching her, fondling her, sucking her and penetrating her mouth and her sex as she writhed and moaned softly, unable to protest or cry out or beg for mercy or—even worse and far more likely—begged them to fuck her. She craved their cocks, all five of them. Before, she’d feared Malcolm would let them fuck her. Now she feared he wouldn’t. But these were mad thoughts. She couldn’t let that happen. She struggled in the iron grasp of the five men, but it did no good, only harm, as the writhing brought her even closer to climax.

Then they all let her go.

It happened so fast, she would have fallen to the floor if the rope hadn’t held her wrists. They released her and stepped off the platform as if someone had given a command she hadn’t heard. She shivered, suddenly cold. Only Malcolm still stood close. She wanted to press her body into his, but he had her by the waist, holding her in place.

“Well, gentlemen, any other requests?” Malcolm asked. “Are we ready to start the bidding yet?”

She braced herself for the haggling. What were they buying? The right to fuck her? Or was it still part of the game?

“Bend her over,” one of the men said. “Let’s see all her holes.”

“If you insist,” Malcolm said.

“I want to know exactly what I’m getting,” the man in the red mask said. “If it’s no trouble.”

“I admire a savvy buyer. And no,” Malcolm said. “No trouble at all. I’ll put her on the pedestal.”

“Very good,” the red-masked man said. The other three men murmured their assent.

Pedestal? What sort of pedestal? Malcolm dragged her off the wooden platform and into the shadows. The light followed as one of the men lifted the floor candle and carried it over to the far corner of the room where Malcolm was taking her. She saw something there, something waist high and covered with a large velvet cloth. Malcolm pulled off the cloth and dropped it to the floor. It was a black leather stool of sorts, but wide enough for her to kneel upon easily. Jutting up from the center of the seat was a large thick phallus, smooth black leather and terrifyingly long—a foot long at least. She shrank from the sight of it, but Malcolm didn’t allow her to flee. He lifted her off her feet and placed her on the top of the pedestal. He took her hips and angled them so that the tip of the phallus kissed the entrance of her hole.

“Take it,” he said, an order she couldn’t refuse. Her body wouldn’t let her. She went down onto her hands and knees and sank onto the phallus, sliding her knees apart and taking as much of it into her as she could. As wet as she was, the massive object went into her easily and she rocked on it a little to take even more. She felt the muscles giving way to the phallus, accepting it, engulfing it. Malcolm had her pinned like a moth under glass. Pinned and put on display.

“Gentlemen, have a look,” Malcolm said. “I have oil here if you need it.”

The consummate salesman.

Mona hung her head, hiding her face behind her hair as the first man whose face she couldn’t see in this position came behind her and spread her buttocks apart. He made a pleased sound like he liked what he saw. He touched her with a finger and she gasped and shuddered. The fingertip was wet, covered in some sort of thick oil or lubricant. He slicked it all over the little hole, all around it. She tingled at the unusual sensation. It wasn’t unpleasant being caressed there on that sensitive opening, wasn’t unpleasant when the man slid a single finger into her as far as his finger could go. He held the finger in her, not moving it for a long time. She heard the men talking among themselves, saying things like “Very nice” and “Well done.” Inside her she felt the man moving his finger, not in and out, but around in a circle, opening her ever more and more.

“You have a plug?” the man asked Malcolm.

“Of course,” Malcolm said.

The finger left her but she soon felt something cold against her, cold and smooth like another phallus but far narrower than the one inside her sex. The man wielding it pushed the tip into her, paused, then pushed it in a few inches more as Mona let out a tense hiss between her teeth. Never before had a lover put anything into her ass—not a finger, not a phallus, not a cock. Yet here it was, going in as if it was made for her body. The man slid it in to the hilt and stopped. The base of the plug would let it go no deeper. Soft moans escaped her lips as Mona’s body adjusted itself to being doubly penetrated on the pedestal. She rocked back and forth, fucking herself with the phallus inside her vagina as the four prospective “buyers” walked around her. One stroked her hair, lifted it and sniffed it. Another stood by her face and took her nipples between his fingers and lightly pulled them. His fingers were cold and sent currents of electricity through her breasts and back. Another man played with her clitoris. His fingertip was wet with the oil as he stroked her. The last man rubbed her buttocks, caressing them lightly but over and over again. Sometimes he would pause to touch the plug or the phallus between caresses.

“Now, gentlemen,” Malcolm began, “let’s start the bidding, shall we?”

“I’ll take her for a hundred,” the man in the red mask said. A hundred dollars? A hundred thousand? A hundred days?

“Anyone wish to counter-offer?” Malcolm asked.

“Too rich for my blood,” the man in the gold mask said. He pinched her nipples again and she flinched as her sex contracted around the phallus.

“Mine too, I’m afraid,” said another man. He slapped her thigh lightly as if saying goodbye to prize horseflesh.

“I’d love to take her,” the last man said. “But I promised myself I wouldn’t spend more than eighty.”

“Then I think we have a deal, my good sir,” Malcolm said. The man in the red mask had been the one fondling her clitoris. Through the veil of her hair she saw him and Malcolm shaking hands. They moved out of her eye line, stood behind her. “Shall I take her off the pedestal for you?”

“No,” the man in the red mask said. “Leave her there. I’ll handle it.”

She heard footsteps, the door opening and closing, but she was certain the man in the red mask hadn’t left her because she felt his finger on her clitoris again. And then on her labia split wide by the huge phallus penetrating her.

“Magnificent,” he said. “Worth every penny.”

He took her hips in his hands and pushed her down, forcing her to take more of the phallus. Her head came up and she moaned with need. She could barely see. Everything was red. The blood behind her eyes, the blaze of her desire, the engorged flesh of her sex, all red, red everything everywhere, red as the man’s mask, the man who owned her. He lifted her up and off the pedestal and put her on her feet. He’d opened his black suit pants and his cock was out, erect and glistening with fluid at the engorged red tip. She had to have it inside her. She had to. She reached for it but he caught her hands, pushed her back into the wall and held her wrists over her head. Desperate, she thrust her hips forward to rub against him. Every move she made sent wild tremors through her body. The plug was deep in her ass still and she wanted it there. But she needed his cock inside her too. Needed it more than anything.

He guided the tip to graze her painfully swollen clitoris and she cried out. With one quick pump of his hips, he pushed the tip through the folds of her labia. With one more pump he penetrated her and with a final pump he entered her entirely. She came off her feet as he lifted her with his hips and pinned her again, this time against the wall. Her breasts bounced as his thrusts lifted her and lifted her. She was nearly screaming in her ecstasy, out of her mind with her pleasure. It felt like she had a rod of iron inside her, as thick, as hot, and as hard as anything could be. She didn’t know this man at all but he owned her. He’d bought her body and now he owned her. She was his slave, his possession, chattel, an object, his to do with as he willed. And what he willed was to fuck her against the wall, ram himself deep into her, pound her and pound her until she came with an unholy moan. Her head fell back against the wall and the man in the red mask kissed her neck, sucking the skin there until she felt it break against his teeth. She didn’t care. The pain spiked the pleasure. The plug in her ass and the cock in her pussy magnified the orgasm a hundred times. His thrusts were relentless. The man in the mask rammed her once more, twice more, a third time and then she felt the burning seed explode inside her so deep she could swear she could taste it on her tongue.

Mona went limp, but she was still impaled on the man’s penis, her feet twined around his thighs, her back pressed to the wall. She rested her head on his shoulder and breathed. Who was this man who’d bought her? What would he do with her? What had she given herself over to? It was wrong, all wrong. She shouldn’t be having sex with this stranger, this cypher, this ghost. She put her hands on his chest to push him away.

“Put me down,” she said.

“Not yet.”

“No, now,” she said though he remained inside her, still hard.

“Carte blanche,” the man in the red mask said.

“That’s for Malcolm, not—”

The man took off his mask. It was Malcolm.

“I told you I liked to play games sometimes,” he said with that smile he stole from the devil. “Didn’t I?”

“Malcolm…” She stared at him in shock and in horror, still pinned to the wall. “You had a beard.”

“Did I?” he asked, lifting his eyebrow.

“You did. Was it…It had to be a fake. You fooled me. I was so sure…” The four men were likely friends of his and when they’d haggled behind her back, Malcolm had taken off his false beard and put on the red mask to trick her. And she’d been tricked, thoroughly tricked.

“You saw what I wanted you to see,” he said. “The oldest magician’s trick.”

“Is this a trick too?” She struggled to free herself from the organ that penetrated her and his body that trapped her against the wall.

“Oh no, this is real,” he said. “This is the only thing that’s real to me.”

Join our Newsletter and Get FREE Stories All Year!

16 Jan

uzamr0jyqwi-les-andersonby G.G. Andrew 

I have some exciting news to share from the Lady Smut crew: we’re launching our newsletter! 

Starting January 21st, we’ll be sending out monthly newsletters with treats you”ll love. The newsletters will include links to our most popular posts, from robot sex to which Tv shows we can’t get enough of. There will be special profiles of our authors and sneak peeks at what they’re writing, which you won’t find on the blog. And, best of all, we’ll be offering FREE stories to our special subscriber list.

Because who doesn’t love free stories?

See the pink button at the top right of this page or go here to get these and other goodies delivered to your inbox all year.

Our free story sent in the January 21st newsletter will be Somewhere Warm, my short novella about a woman who falls for her best friend’s ex. It’s a snowbound, enemies-to-lovers tale, and a great read for a winter evening. It’s usually for sale for .99, but if you subscribe to our newsletter soon, you’ll have it in your hot little hands next weekend without paying a cent.

Here at Lady Smut, we not only know what we like, we know what you like. So subscribe and let us treat you each and every month with all things sexy and fun!

~

G.G. Andrew writes quirky romantic comedy. Sometimes it’s paranormal, sometimes it’s New Adult, sometimes it’s between two consenting adults in the real world who are arguing about grammar–but it always involves a lot of awkwardness and ill-advised kisses along the way. Her latest is the short story Girl Meets Grammarian, coming in February in the geek romance anthology Covalent Bonds from World Weaver Press.

Sexy Sunday Snippet

15 Jan

by Madeline Iva

Dear fantastic readers, Carlene Flores Love is here today with a sweet little excerpt from her book WICKED FLOWER.

wickedflower1m Here’s a blurb: 

Sin Pointe front man Stefan Calderon is playing a very dangerous game and his mom’s live-in caretaker, Dani Foster, just landed right smack in the middle of it.

Practically strangers when Stefan rolls into his small hometown looking to patch things up with Mom, his and Dani’s worlds collide with a hot and intense hook up. He knows right away this woman will make the perfect partner for his two weeks in town. But when she realizes whose son he is, and what he’s there to do, sexy times come to an abrupt halt.

That is until they come up with a solution. Rules. Every game needs them. The question isn’t if they’ll break them, but when and how hard.  It’s a wickedly delicious game, one neither of them intends to lose.

Excerpt from WICKED FLOWER:

Was Stefan ready to listen? Way back, like all the way back in his mind, he wondered if maybe it was time to consider quitting the game. There was something about seeing her in there, protecting what was hers.

One thing he couldn’t do was stand out here all night. Rain soaked through his hair and began to do the same to his shirt.

He stepped up to her car, leaned in and tapped on her passenger side window but she clearly mouthed the word No.

Fine, he could be creative when he wanted something and felt bad for how he’d already treated her. He leaned closer and then wrote through the raindrops on the window with his finger, TALK.

Nothing.

He tried again. PLEASE.

Zilch.

His head dipped and he tried once more. If she didn’t go for this one, he was done. This didn’t mean anything to her and it shouldn’t mean anything to him.

Instead of using his finger to write, he leaned down, and then pressed a kiss to the glass. The rain felt nice on his dry lips. He probably looked foolish but luckily he didn’t care right now. He took a step back and waited. It took a few seconds, but the lock sounded with a pop. He tried the handle.

She’d let him in.

Exhilaration at the clear win spiked his pulse for a moment until he realized something.

They had to talk and he doubted Dani was going to like anything he had to say.

Carlene is a huge sweetie!

Carlene is such a sweetie! We absolutely lurv her–check out her book!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Carlene Love is a fan of the stars (especially Orion), music (especially Depeche Mode), and the ocean (especially at sunset). These inspire her intimate stories. If she could touch someone’s heart with writing the way others have for her, she’d say there never lived a luckier girl. She’d love to hear from readers so feel to drop her a line at her website.

 

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