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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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Spanking the White House Gets an Award

28 Sep

By Elizabeth SaFleur

I’ve often said this book was the best-timed or the worst-timed book of my career. The jury is still out on the verdict. But, look! The BDSM Writers Con awarded the White House Gets A Spanking with a Golden Flogger Award in the Best Female Dominant/Male Submissive book category.

Check out the full list of winners. Never say we don’t help you add to your mountainous TBR pile. There are some fabulous reads there!

About The White House Gets A Spanking

The last place Washington D.C. investigative journalist Stella Martin wanted to cover was the White House. But when a friend’s request to watch over her latest submissive plaything when she’s out of town turns out to be the White House Communications Director, Stella’s unwelcomed and unbearable assignment becomes quite interesting.

Laird Harkness hadn’t expected his perfect Domme would show up in his office—the most famous house in the world and a place where his secret desires could end his career. Stella calms his fears, but can she sate his craving to submit, serve and belong to someone?

READ AN EXCERPT

Now on Kindle Unlimited!

REVIEWS

“…if you enjoy BDSM stories you will be enthralled…”

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“…will rev you up and have you twisting in your seat. This one is chocked full of exhilarating scenes…”

“…a page turner with a fascinating, confident female protagonist and an equally interesting male sub…”

“…a rare glimpse into the Femme Domme, male submissive dynamic…”

Master Me … If You Dare (Untouchable Excerpt)

15 May

by Elizabeth SaFleur

Not all power in D.C. is wielded by politicians. Wealthy Washington, D.C. corporate attorney and seasoned Dominant, Carson Drake is the master of the romantic pre-emptive strike—until he runs into his PR consultant, London, in a BDSM club where she tests every assumption he’s ever had about love.

~~~Excerpt~~~

Every candle in Carson’s room was lit, over two dozen pillars similar to the ones he’d used in a demonstration he’d given at Club Accendos months ago. The young girls giggled and screamed as their partners dripped hot wax on their bellies and breasts. No one got burned or hurt. The sensation play simply brought out their innate melodrama. He’d been bored to tears. Right now nothing interested him more.

After laying London down on the table, he took a moment to admire the wisps of caramel and chocolate strands by her cheeks, her ponytail dripping over the edge of the table.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

“No.” She shifted and the plastic crinkled underneath the sheet. “I’m fine.”

Carson freed his belt from her waist. A loud clank when it hit the floor made her startle.

He picked up a bottle of oil and snapped open the top. After filling his palm with the lubricant, he spread it over London’s stomach. He moved to her breasts, kneading and then pinching her raspberry nipples. Her back arched into his hands, and her hands grew white from fisting the sheets by her side.

After attending to her arms and hands, he poured more oil over her pussy. He made sure every hair was coated in the emollient. He wasn’t in the business of giving bikini waxes. Soon her thighs, calves and feet wore an oily sheen illuminated by the candles. She glowed like a marble sculpture—if it wasn’t for her constant wiggling.

“Relax.” He massaged her feet, pulling on each toe and massaging her arch. Finally her hands unclenched their hold on the sheet and splayed open.

He tipped a few teaspoons of melted wax from one of the candles into his hand. “Tell me if this burns.” He spread the warmth over her greased belly.

She inhaled sharply and her hands darted up and then settled back down.

“London?”

“Not burning . . .” He could tell she squeezed her eyes tighter under the blindfold.

The wax grew tacky under his palm. More gasps came from her throat as he dribbled a large drop from the candle onto her arm. Her hands jumped from the sheet only to float back down.

“Shh, feel it.” He grasped her wrist and angled it away from her body. “Palms up. Don’t move.” He picked up two pillar candles, one in each hand. “No matter what, London.”

Carson tipped both candles over her wrist. Her fingers danced as the drippings made contact and she gasped. “Oh!” A wax line formed, the edges pooling on the sheet.

“You are being cuffed to the table with wax. If you break these restraints, I’ll find something stronger.”

She curled her fingers as if she tested the bond.

“Confirm.”

“I-I won’t break them.”

He streamed more wax until she wore a thin manacle on her wrist. The bond barely covered her skin. If she was the submissive he believed, she’d feel it like an iron chain.

“You’re mine tonight,” he said.

She sent her other arm out, away from her body as if ready for the same treatment. Her acceptance of his handling made his groin tighten in anticipation.

He secured the other wrist with a waxy shackle. But her legs would require more than candle drippings. In addition to the soy candles, he’d warmed his largest block of paraffin in a crock pot. If his mother knew what he did with her Christmas gift, she’d lose her final hope of him ever being domesticated.

He dipped a ladle into the wax bath and continued until her ankles wore similar restraints to her wrists. Now cuffed by wax chains, spread wide, he stepped back to admire London’s captivity. A small smile played on her lips, finally relaxed. Finally giving into the inevitable.

Carson picked up a small paintbrush and dipped it into the pot. He painted a thin layer of wax over one nipple. She arched and sighed under the sensation. He then took one of the larger candles, and holding it high, let a long stream flow over her breast. She cried out and flinched. One hand broke through its cuff.

Her forehead furrowed. “I-I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting it.”

“Of course not.” He chuckled. “That’s the point.”

She returned his laughter, but quickly swallowed it back. “Carson? I won’t do it again.”

He touched her arm. “Of course you won’t.”

After he secured her wrist with more wax, her fingers quivered. Tension in her belly returned, perhaps fighting to lift herself toward him? Her pussy glistened, and not from oil, but from growing arousal. London enjoyed being handled, he thought. He mentally added the sentiment to London’s List.

She balled her fists. The thin shackles didn’t crack. He spilled more melted candle onto her waiting body. A seal formed over her breast from drizzling wax, spiral-fashion.

“This is the only white you should wear.”

He turned to the paraffin wax bath and scooped out a full dipper of the mix. With one long stream, he drew small circles around her other breast. A coiled cap formed over her flesh. She squirmed under the liquid heat, soft moans escaping her lips. More candle drippings formed waxy rivers and tributaries over her belly and her hips. Her skin reddened around the waxy parts from the stimulation and heat.

He traded candles. He’d empty one of its liquid while allowing the others to burn down more, creating their own small pools of melted warmth. Large sections cooled to semi-hardness. Unable to stay motionless any longer, her back arched with each new stream that met her skin. Wax separated and cracked, except for the thin shackles securing her wrists. She balled her fists, as if willing them to stay intact.

By the time he’d moved to her legs, she took in big gulps of air. A light sheen had formed over her upper lip and forehead. He ran one long line of warm melted candlewax down one thigh to her knee.

When he crossed her low belly with a large spill of wax, she squealed. Her hands threatened to dart upward. Her manacles barely held. But she stopped herself from completely freeing her wrists and ankles.

His belly clenched. London, the woman who fought his every move in meetings, argued every word from his mouth, now fought to honor his control. The shields London had erected to deny her desires had begun to fall away.

Now we begin.

~~~~~

AMAZON   AUDIBLE   B&N   Apple   Kobo

 

Meow…Pet me, love me, I’m your kitten. Kitten Play 101

9 Mar

Cute furry ears, long beautiful tail, licking from bowls of milk, scratching, biting and being naughty–no, I’m not talking about the little creature you just adopted from the animal shelter. I’m talking about BDSM kitten play.

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The kitten is the sub, the master or owner the Dom. The kitten acts as you’d imagine: biting, crawling, meowing. The owner cares for the little one by petting and caressing, but also by punishing for misbehavior. What’s the special draw?

Kittens thrive on being cared for, rewarded and punished, but they also thrive on belonging and commitment. The pet and owner participate in a collaring ceremony that binds the two together as well as establishes the boundaries, privileges and responsibilities of the relationship. As with any good relationship, the two care for each other physically as well as emotionally.

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As for the boundaries, those are similar to ones outlined in many BDSM relationships, with the addition of elements regarding the pet aspects. How will the kitten be punished for misbehavior? Rewarded for loyalty and affection? What will the owner do to care for it? How obedient and loyal will it be?

Like other BDSM relationships, kitten play is based on trust, attention and equal dependence. Why this particular fantasy? Kittens thrive on being taken care of, nurtured and cherished, while also getting to put themselves in “kitten headspace” and behaving like the pets they are. The lounge, seek affection and get feisty when the mood strikes. Like with pony play and other types of animal play, many says it relieves stress, generates creativity, and gives them a chance to break from their human self and the complications of their daily life.

tailA while back, I did a post on pony play. Among other things, I offered some reasons why someone would incorporate animal play into their life. The reasons are both sexual and non-sexual, the same applies to kitten play.

Maybe you’re thinking its obvious why a woman who want to be a kitten. Who doesn’t love being taken care of while also getting to lounge around, sleeping and being enigmatic? But what’s the draw for man? Why would he want to be the master of a kitten? I have three words: Michelle Pfeiffer Catwoman.

You’re intrigued. You need an idea of where to start. Want to know what type of kitten you are? Try this quiz. Alas, it won’t tell you what sort of submissive kitten play personality you may have, but taking the quiz will give you a break from that pile of work on your desk.

Give us a shout in the comments and follow Lady Smut for more info and awesomeness.

Isabelle Drake writes erotic romance, urban fantasy, horror and young adult thrillers. Her latest story, BAIT, features a woman who hunts and sells zombies, can be found in the horror anthology Gone With The Dead.

69 Ways To Be Kinky

15 Dec

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

Today I’m giving you a sneak peek at my new BDSM erotica anthology The Big Book of Submission, Volume 2: 69 Kinky Tales, out on Tuesday, December 19, in ebook form. Yes, I know it’s officially Best Women’s Erotica of the Year, Volume 3 week, but today is my last official post as a Lady Smutter and with back to back releases, I wanted to make sure you know about both of my new Cleis Press books.

The Big Book of Submission, Volume 2 follows on the heels of the first edition, which has been so popular with readers (and audiobook listeners) that my publisher decided to commission a new volume. My books just arrived last night and they are gorgeous:

rachel kramer bussel bdsm erotica

So many books!

What I love about these kinky flash fiction stories (each one is 1,200 words or less) is that each of them manages to be varied and nuanced even within the short word count. There are fetishes, role-play, costumes, spanking, bondage, kink at the office, humiliation, orders, obeying, being bratty, using sex toys in public, long distance dominance and submission, breath play and so much more. To give you a feel for what’s in this book, which makes a wonderful holiday or Valentine’s Day gift, here are brief excerpts from all 69 stories, offering you 69 ways to be kinky (you can read a lot more ways and a lot more hotness in these erotic tales):

Words by Jo Henny Wolf

“I want you to write down exactly how you want me to fuck you tonight, darling.”

The Assistant by Malin James

“You have ten minutes. Make me come.”

Switching Struggles by Leandra Vane

Charlotte held Nate’s wrists together, his warm pulse thumping against the pads of her thumbs.

Flagged for Revision by Elna Holst

The slick flagpole to which she was strung up, arms hoisted high above her head, creaked in the wind.

Grocery Run by Rose P. Lethe

A pair of Ben Wa balls in her cunt and a metal plug in her ass—”The sooner you get home, the sooner they come out.”

Conference Call by Elizabeth Coldwell

He has so much less composure than my Master, and I know it won’t be long before he’s free his cock from his suit trousers so he can jerk himself off to the sight of my willing humiliation.

Listening to Her by Eve Pendle

With me spread-eagled under the duvet, if someone saw me they’d just think I slept like a be dog. Except my cock is making a bulge.

The Back Room at the Saloon by Donna George Storey

He felt harder this time, and she took him so deep he knocked against the back of her throat.

Winter Games by Allyson Shannon

The sound of me fucking myself is obscenely loud in his small, eco-friendly car.

Private Message by Erzabet Bishop

Her bare pussy had touched his chair. It was the only coherent through running through Dale’s mind as the meeting ran into the two-hour nightmare that as CEO he had to endure every Tuesday.

Metamorphoses by Emmanuelle de Maupassant

He taps at both her ankles, reminding Evie to part her legs.

Way of Life by Selena Kitt

“You’re not allowed to come, pet. Not until I say.”

Symphony of Submission by Jordan Monroe

The leather tip of the flogger against your skin is so sudden, you are more surprised than pained. Digging your fingers into the expensive sheets, you remain silent.

Twelve by R.A. Buckley

All I can feel is the paddle reddening my bottom, and Master’s gaze upon my body as I react for him.

Around the Block by M. Marie

He cursed in a low voice as, after squeezing the base teasingly, she slid her grip up to circle the head of his shaft and pull it out of his pants.

The Old-Fashioned Way by Angela R. Sargenti

My wife thinks I’m working late. She’d be shocked to know where I really am, lying facedown, shackled to a table at my Dominatrix’s place.

The Gift by Victoria Blisse

From this angle he can only really see her ass and spread legs, stretched apart with the aid of a sleek, steel bar, her ankles encircled by black leather connected to the restraints with a few chain links.

Bottega Louie by Zoey Trope

With His rough hands, He grabbed a fistful of my hair, peeling my desperation away until I was hovering within a breath of His lips.

Lashed by Dr. J.

He had never used these particular rope designs before. They highlighted the femininity of my breasts and the lips of my vulva.

What She Wanted by Olivia Foxe

The rope bound his wrists behind his back and to his ankles, the silk brilliantly red over his muscled thighs. At the end of it, he felt…secure.

Lightning Strike by Sommer Marsden

I smile…until his fingers close over my nipple and pinch. Hard. I hiss between my teeth and my hips shoot up like they’re on a string and he’s just yanked it.

Imago by Anna Sky

My body has become a canvas, a riotous carnival of ink. It’s an homage to the pain I endure and showcases my ultimate, unquestionable submission.

Her Turn by Martha Davis

“You’re fucking hot on your knees, Liam. I’m going to have so much fun fucking this ass.”

Making Him Mine by Evoë Thorne

I slide a finger inside him, edging in a little at a time. He feels warm and slick and tight. I bend my finger and he moans. I slide in and out. He gasps. He begs.

Roped In by Adrea Kore

As he speaks, he knots my wrists together in front, then bends my elbows up into prayer position. He loops the rope around my neck, exerting gentle pressure, until my head tilts forward, as if in supplication.

One Word Leads to Another by Pearl Monroe

“What did you say, Cumslut?”

“I’m sorry, Mistress. Mistress, please let me come.”

The Broken Dam by Rob Rosen

I fell from the couch and landed in front of him, his cock already aimed my way. he slapped it across my face.

Chased by the Wolf by Mischa Eliot

The collar settled around my neck. It was a simple black strip of leather with a charm in the shape of a floppy-eared bunny just like he one we’d originally bonded over in the pet shop.

The Amazing Lucinda by Heather Day

The subtle whisper of the sand threatens to set my nerves on edge, but I can’t afford to panic. I have three minutes to escape and need my wits about me.

His by Jade Melisande

She opened her eyes and found him watching her, the tip of his blade raised in one hand, the woman’s body an intricate swirl of lines and liquid beneath the other.

Cari’s Recital by Rod Harden

The chastity belt held in place both a butt plug, which she felt with every movement she made, as well as a small but powerful radio-controlled vibrator locked inside her pussy. Control of the vibrator rested, as always, with Master.

Beautiful by Kendel Davi

I feel his erection against my naked back as he steps behind me. I lean back, hoping my stimulation against his cock will spark his need to untie this rope and ravish me. But why would it?

My Girl, My Boy, My Enby by Annabeth Leong

Then their eyes turned catlike, cold and green, and they said, “I’m going to tickle you now, until you can’t breathe.”

They pushed me onto my back, dug into my ribs and my armpits and the vulnerable places behind my knees and the points of my hips. They let me feel their weight. 

A Jamaican Affair by D. Fostalove

“With the way he fucked my pussy, I couldn’t deny myself the pleasure. He was so big and skilled. I needed him to stretch me out in a way I hadn’t been in a long time.”

Playing with a Beast by Salome Wilde

As Jeff’s panting turns to grunts, I know Lee’s big dick must be achingly hard, straining against the rope that binds it to his thigh. I don’t know if he’s wishing he were fucking me or Jeff or someone else or no one at all.

We Are Magic by Giselle Renarde

She slowly unbuttoned his shirt. She figured he’d knock her hand away before she got all the way to the bottom, but his body remained stiff even as she pulled out his tucked hem.

Room 253 by Iris Ann Hunter

“He said you were beautiful. He was right.” The man’s voice sliced through the air, cutting her deep. it was a compliment, but all she heard was confirmation that her owner had sent someone else in His place, something He’d never done before.

Oktoberfest Addiction by Roxanna Cross

“Now look what you’ve made me do.” He slaps my nipple and continues to fuck my mouth without any of his rigid control. His strokes are wild and frantic.

This Time by Jade A. Waters

“Lift up your arms.”

I do, enjoying the sparkle in his eyes when he comes round to face me again. He takes two hands to me, one for each breast, molding them in his palms before making me jump with a pinch of my nipples.

His Wife’s Wonderful Cocks by Dahlia Lovejoy

She nudges Ben forward and his swollen cocked brushes against Colin’s lips. The texture is silken and inviting, not so different from Ananda’s mouth when they kiss.

Good Girl by Genevieve Ash

“Shh. You must not make any noise or I will stop, do you understand?” His graveled whisper carried a threat, and Louise felt the panic rise inside.

Kintsukuroi • Corrine A. Silver

“Eyes down.” His fingers are warm as he tilts my face. “I think there may be a day when I don’t have to remind you of that. Why do you want to look at me?”

Building Something New • Xan West

He chose where they sat on the train, gesturing for Rickie to have the window seat, while he took the aisle, crowding Rickie just a bit agains the window in this way that just flat did it for him. It was being cornered and being led and being protected all wrapped together and it filled Rickie with this electric pleasure.

Plug Play • Dorothy Freed

“Please, Richard, tell me you’re not serious,” I say, when he shows me the plug he has in mind. “That thing is enormous. It’s not going to fit in my ass.”

Sidetracked • VK Foxe

As she pulled up, her perfect legs wrapped around his head, her sneakers catching him below the shoulder blades, Lewis found himself yanked forward and buried in her thighs. His goddess had been running a while, and she was slick with sweat.

My Gemini Twin • Randi Miller

Malik twisted my left nipple. Todd bit the right. I had two handsome men sucking my breasts and the promise of a spanking. Todd reached down to play with my clit.

Choker • Rachel Kramer Bussel

“And no, don’t even ask, because I’m not going to tell you whose cock you’re about to suck. All you need to know is that I want to watch.”

The Framework of Fantasy • Sonni de Soto

“There’s something about someone taking control of me, taking control from me. Someone forcing me out of myself and making me feel.”

More by Michael in Texas

“I’ll give you a while to think about that,” he says. “Think about where I’ll spank next.” Then he drapes the tawse across the bench in front of my right hand and walks away behind me.

Cinnamon by Lazuli Jones

I planted my left heel on the bed, my eyes always on the Dominatrix behind me. She placed the riding crop against the black curls of my hair and sternly said, “Don’t you look at me, Miranda. Do you need to be spanked to obey me? Look t that gorgeous pussy of yours.”

1,000 Words by LN Bey

I went ahead and bent over the desk, pressed my breasts against its hard surface; my nipples hardened against the cool varnished wood. I steppe dup on my toes, as he expected—my ass was presented high, ready for the beating. I gripped the edge of the desktop and waited.

The Sound of Silence by Lucy Felthouse

I soon had my husband’s shaft in my mouth once more. This time, though, there were no distractions. I poured my entire being into sucking and stroking Jack’s luscious dick. HE was my only focus—nothing else mattered.

Warning by Valerie Alexander

You slap his face, pull on his leash until you’re trembling as hard as he is. It’s no longer a game. He’s lost in submissive euphoria as soon as the spreader bar locks around his ankles. Kissing him, you bite his lips until pain shoots to his cock and stiffens it.

Power Surge by A. Zimmerman

Abandoning the duster, I hooked one of the tines of a serving fork through a nipple ring, tugging to make him moan. Doing the same to the other ring made his cock jerk. Tracing loops down his stomach made his head tip back.

Kimono by Tess Danesi

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he said, grabbing my shoulders and pushing me back until the tree stopped me. I think I nodded or mulled; whatever I did it was clear I was in agreement His lips were firm and demanding and when he took my bottom lip between his teeth and bit down hard, I knew we were kindred spirits.

The Eunuch by Regina Kammer

The mattress dipped as she clambered up to straddle his head, her calves at his ears. No hem fluttered around his face. His princess was nude.

He breathed her in, his mouth watering.

Goombay Lover by Zodian Gray

I grabbed Carl’s ponytail. Some people thought it obnoxious that a man in his forties should still have a ponytail but Carl kept it for one reason only. I wound his beautiful brown hair around my hand and shoved his mouth farther down my dick.

Dixie Cup by Anastacia Lucretia

I’m dimly aware that I can’t breathe very well from the amount of cock that’s in my mouth. She pulls again on my nipple and fuck I just do that thing where I try and hold back for a half-second because I know it will make that first spurt harder.

Mum by Charlie Powell

He doesn’t slap her. Instead, he spits, fiercely right into her open mouth.

It’s the hottest thing she’s ever experienced. Somewhere at the back of her mind, clouded by lust, she remembers a friend complaining that her husband never actually listened to the things that bother her, he just pretended to listen until she calmed down.

Mike has been listening.

Twenty-Nine by Rose de Fer

The whip falls again, harder. The stinging leather tails elicits little cries and gasps from her and she wriggles over the chair. It is all she can do not to reach back and rub the burn out of her cheeks. But she stays focused.

Sing by J.C. Parker

My break is short lived. When she raises a hand to slap my pussy, I double forward as the pain explodes throughout my pelvis. I bite my lip to silence my cry.

A Testing Time by Suzanne Fox

His hands battled hers for control of her wrists before she surrendered to the grip of hard steel cuffs. Her sharpened hearing strained for the slightest of clues. The driver’s door slammed shut and muffled steps circled the car.

Trading Places by Myra S. Hart

She went to the kitchen sink and quickly washed whatever she was holding. Then, she filled it with water. She placed a pet bowl near the kitchen door. I noticed the words MY PET were painted on it. “Drink,” she instructed.

Viscera by Emily Bingham

He’s silent as he raises the blade so I can watch he course he draws in the air between himself and the target he’s decided upon—the crook of my thigh where leg meets hip, so close to cloche as to be nearly indistinguishable.

I gasp as the impersonal metal presses into my flesh. He grins wickedly.

Apprendimento by Kathleen Tudor

Another word, another pin, again and again until my breasts tingled and ached and throbbed and tears flowed freely from beneath my closed lids. I held tight to the pull-up bar and sobbed. I was no good at this! I was never going to learn, and she was never going to let me quit!

First Slap by T.C. Mill

She started to stroke his cock, and just as he sank into  it her other hand slapped him. Still gentle. A hint of sting beneath the growing heat. A clap like distant thunder, a lightning strike, a line of fire racing toward his core.

Continuing Education by Rachel Woe

The throbbing deepened. Her legs twitched. Miles was about to make her come in front of all these people. She could leave. Safe out. He wouldn’t hold it against her. But he wouldn’t have brought her here if he didn’t want her to stay.

Becoming by Violet R. Jones

She wore nothing but the blindfold, tape, and ropes. The muscles in her arms and legs ached. The ropes that bound her arms over her head were just a little too short to let her feet rest fully on the floor, so Elizabeth had to stand on her tiptoes like a ballet dancer on point. 

Submissive-in-Chief by Kristi Hancock

He removes and holds out his glossy leather belt with the tarnished silver buckle. I’m trained to fold and place it beside him in the chair, and I do. My heart pounds as I wonder if he’ll use it on me later, and where. On my ass? On my breasts? On my pussy? Will it leave me a rosy pink for hours, or marked for days?

kinky bdsm erotica book

Read them all in The Big Book of Submission, Volume 2

Order The Big Book of Submission, Volume 2 in ebook for Kindle (all countries), Nook, Google Play, iBooks or Kobo, or pre-order the print edition, out January 9, from Amazon (all countries), Bn.com, independent bookstore Powell’s or your local independent bookstore via IndieBound. Follow the book @submissionbook on Twitter and on Facebook. And of course your reviews are greatly appreciated anywhere online (or in person!), including Goodreads.

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Rachel Kramer Bussel (rachelkramerbussel.com) has edited over 60 anthologies, including Best Women’s Erotica of the Year, Volume 1 and 2, Come Again: Sex Toy Erotica, Begging for It, Fast Girls, The Big Book of Orgasms and more. She writes widely about sex, dating, books and pop culture and teaches erotica writing classes around the country and online. Follow her @raquelita on Twitter and find out more about her classes and consulting at eroticawriting101.com. You can follow Rachel on BookBub to get notified about new releases and ebook sales.

The Author Witness Protection Program and Other Writerly Secrets

28 Sep

By Elizabeth SaFleur

It’s Throwback Thursday, and we’re putting up popular posts for your enjoyment. Below is a blog post that first appeared on our LadySmut Romance Blog Facebook page. Give the page a “like” if you haven’t done so and never miss our shenanigans.

The Author Witness Protection Program and Other Writerly Secrets

Ever wonder what life is like for your favorite author? Not the stuff you see on Facebook or Twitter. Not the sunshine and roses or even ranty stuff. I mean the Stuff We Never Talk About. Here are secrets that might be just me. But then, again, who knows? For instance….

I have often put my life in danger in the name of research.

First, there is Death By Boredom. I watched three hours of Supreme Court documentary hell. I suffered through this for ONE LINE so it’d be accurate. Even my husband turned to me half way through and asked, “can we be done with this?” This question came from a man who gets a thrill when the new year’s Tax Code comes in the mail. (This two inch book makes him happy. It whispers “deductions.”)

As if that’s not enough I’m going to take a tour of the Supreme Court so I can describe the marble correctly. Honestly, this book cannot be published (The Supreme Spanking, the third Justice series novella) without this trip.

There also is death by Real Crazy Shit. Like I needed to know how it feels to get a fishing hook stuck in your hand for a book I’m writing right now. I asked my husband to do this to me. He refused. I felt unsupported. So, instead I’m YouTubing what it’s like to have a piece of metal pierce your flesh. Hey, marriage is all about compromise.

Since I have BDSM elements in many of my books I have also sampled some Other Wild Things. I can tell you this: Wax play is awesome. Fireplay isn’t so bad. The Violet Wand is evil incarnate. A whole other post could be about the BDSM Stuff I’ve Done. But let’s not let that topic hijack the other parts that are important to note, like ….

Pseudonyms are often critical to an author’s life.

We aren’t trying to keep ourselves from you, dear reader. Oh, no. For some of us, a pen name is like an Author Witness Protection Program (AWPP). It keeps the mortgage-paying clients in our day jobs from throwing our buttinskis on the street. If my uber-conservative clients knew what I wrote? They would have a heart attack. No matter they have s-e-x themselves, but my writing about the horizontal mambo? Heavens to Betsy and Holy Smokes!

For other writers, pen names are a safety thing. We don’t want crazed serial killers and mentally delusional people showing up at our house. I might write about a kidnapped girl falling in love with the guy (who turned out to have no choice and is really good underneath), but that doesn’t mean I want that to happen to me – with them! (Jason Momoa, if you are reading this post, I give you carte blanche to kidnap me. In fact, I’ll be sitting on my front porch in about 5 minutes. I’ll go quietly.)

Book Butt clearly was inevitable.

Or call it Author Ass. It’s all the same poundage on the hippage. I gained 20 pounds in the last two years thanks to  my books Lovely, Untouchable, Perfect and Lucky. That’s 5 pounds per story. It’s like the college Freshman Ten, except back then you didn’t have your current responsibilities and got to go home with the guy manning the keg. The current BB/AA syndrome is so prevalent that the #RomanceFit online group is a thing – like a very real, very necessary thing. I tried to join this online support group’s fun, but I kept forgetting to log in those 5 miles that I never ran. What can I say?

P.S. Don’t yell at me saying I just called a bunch of romance authors fat. I did not. I mean, have you SEEN J.R. Ward? I’m just sayin’ I didn’t realize MY 20 pounds came with publishing. That’s all. Lay down the sword—unless you can carve out those 20 pounds. If so, have at it.

I (sometimes/often/perhaps always) love my characters more than real people.

I love it when plans get cancelled. It means I can stay home and play with my fictional Doms. (Is that bad?) This last summer has been hellish with family invasions of all types – father, stepmother, cousins, children of cousins, stepsons and wives – who have taken me away from my characters! Do you think I’m horrible? No, don’t tell me because…

I care what you think.

MOST of us care what you think. Like really, really care. That’s why we read our reviews and check our rankings – some of us to obsessive levels. Sure, some writers do this more than others. Yet, I cringe a little when an author boasts on social media, “I never read reviews! They are for readers! I don’t need to see them!” Uh, huh. Right. You sneak a peek now and then, don’t you? Admit it. And, you know what’s worse? When we don’t have reviews at all. (Sniff. What’s wrong with my books?? No one loves me!!)

But we love you at Ladysmut, so please keep reading us, commenting, posting and click that like button if you liked being in on these secrets.

Speaking of love, have you checked out Kiersten Hallie Krum’s latest? SEALed with a Twist. In the follow-up to the wildly popular, Library Journal starred review, RONE award finalist, WILD ON THE ROCKS, a fan favorite returns to Barefoot Bay… One click today!

~~~~~

Elizabeth SaFleur is a contemporary erotic romance author and dying-to-retire public relations practitioner who writes, tweets and posts under a pseudonym since her business clients might be (WOULD be) shocked at her second career choice. Her books, the Elite Doms of Washington and Justice series, were inspired by her thirty-year career serving D.C. clients where she learned not all power in our nation’s capital is wielded by politicians. There’s way more interesting things happening there than politics.

Strong And Sexy Week Starts At The White House

10 Sep

It’s Strong and Sexy Week at LadySmut where we’re celebrating all things hot and fierce — from Femme Dommes to alpha males. from what makes us feel virile and courageous to what does not. To start, here’s a free excerpt from Elizabeth SaFleur‘s latest, The White House Gets A Spanking where a Femme Domme finds herself in the most famous house in the world and, perhaps, discovers the alpha submissive male she’s dreamed of for six, long years.

EXCERPT

~~~~~

“Tell me Samson—I should call you that?” Stella placed her hand over his fingers that he drummed  on his leg.

“You can call me anything you want.”

“Samson then. What are you looking for?”

He blinked up at her. “Dominance.” He phrased it like a question as if she was either an idiot to ask such a thing or he wasn’t sure what that meant. She chose the latter.

“And what does this dominance look like? When you are in complete surrender in your mind, the thoughts you have late at night when you’re alone in bed playing with yourself . . .” she stilled his fingers once more. “Yes, Samson, when you are touching yourself, what is she doing?”

She didn’t need to ask him if he’d thought of her as he jacked off. She knew he did. He wouldn’t have come looking for her otherwise. And, his little gifts throughout the week were finally the right messages she’d sought.

“I haven’t. Touched myself.”

She cocked her head. “You’re telling the truth?”

“I always tell the truth.” His gaze shot to her.

“You forget I’ve been to your briefings.”

“I have never lied to the press.”

“Oh, the Assistant Press Secretary is ill? Or in bed with a certain someone?”

His nostrils flared. “Okay, I touched myself. But I didn’t—”

“You didn’t relieve yourself? Why not? Did Hannah forbid it until she got back?” If she had, that would have been another useful bit of information his former Domme should have shared.

His expression sank a little. “No, she didn’t forbid it.”

“But you wished to prove something to her anyway.”

“No.” He lifted his gaze to her, his eyes beseeching yet clear. “To you.”

Mixed emotion cascaded down her spine: pride, bewilderment, happiness and a little distrust. He still could be playing her. So many did in this town. But Hannah wouldn’t be with a player, despite the fact his job was in the biggest playpen. And, he had shown candor tonight. She’d give him the benefit of the doubt, but she wanted to know more.

“Why?”

He blinked. “You’re different.”

“How?”

He tossed her a small smile. “I didn’t take you for someone who required flattery.”

“Don’t you dare.” She smiled back at him. “Tell me what you’re looking for. Details, Samson.”

His head swiveled immediately upon her words to see who might be around. Three men were walking by them. He angled himself so he leaned into her more.

“You’re among friends, Samson.”

“I want someone to belong to.”

Now they were getting somewhere.

“Belong,” she repeated, not because she didn’t understand, but because she did. The transience of their worlds—media, politics, Washington itself—wasn’t for someone who required constant reassurance. Comfort wasn’t on the menu. But if one’s nature was in direct contrast with who one had to be on the outside, well, having a place to be yourself could be very comforting indeed. Who didn’t long to be themselves, devoid of pretense, pseudonyms, false identities and the niceties everyone must adopt in D.C.?

“What do you want?” he asked.

“I’ll tell you. But, first, tell me more about this belonging.”

His eyes didn’t get that dreamy cast like so many other submissives when they paint their ideal fairytale. His eyes grew fierce.

“You would tell me what to do, of course. We are equals but you understand my need to serve you. You’d love . . . having me. It would be a shared experience.”

His unwavering clarity made her sit back against the couch cushions.

“I know watching is not the same as doing,” he said. “But what I’ve seen, well, I can tell the difference between people who are playing and people who are together and playing.”

The man used words for a living, so she shouldn’t be so surprised at his articulation. But the fact he expressed himself exactly as she would have? His answer rendered her nearly speechless.

It didn’t matter if Hannah had told her to watch over him. She wouldn’t turn her back on this man for anything. He wasn’t just rare. He was perhaps once in a lifetime.

“Is that what you want, to be part of a 24/7 couple?” she asked.

“Eventually. But first I have to know what it’s like. To be sure.”

“That’s wise. There is a vast difference between the fantasy and the reality of what we do.”

“I learned that quickly.” His eyes lit up. “It was better.”

Controlling the squirm that rose inside her, she leveled her voice. She was investigating, not seducing. “So you’re hungry for more?”

He nodded and clenched and unclenched his fists. He had something inside seeking release. She took his hand and he seemed to relax.

“You enjoy being handled.” The words just tumbled from her lips.

“Very much so.”

Every fiber of her being wanted to handle him. Her mind spun with all the possibilities about the apparatus she could connect him to while strapping open his ass cheeks and plugging him, playing with his cock, and making those delectable lips do all kinds of things to her. . . . She told her imagination to take five. There was more investigation to do. Her lady parts complained bitterly.

Stella took a long breath and squared her shoulders toward him. “I wish to see you again. Do you wish to see me again?”

“Yes, but . . .” He leaned forward. “. . . we’re here now.”

She smiled. She could so easily tell him to drop to his knees, crawl with her as she scoped out a quiet corner for them, test him out a little. Perhaps a short spanking scene or binding him with his own clothes and asking him to service her.

She loved to delay sating a man’s lust until he couldn’t take it anymore, and then let him unleash on her, give her pleasure while taking his own. She once thought she’d found such a man. But, no, her last submissive lover had to end things because his wife had found out—a spouse tucked away in Northern Virginia that she didn’t know he had. This time she would be wiser.

“Tonight, we just talk,” she said.

“Hannah has already told me it’s fine, but if you wish to speak to her—” He stopped abruptly likely due to her face coloring. He’d spoken to Hannah, and Hannah hadn’t bothered to call her back? Then again, Samson was under her charge at least some of the time. She would feel obligated to return his call.

“I’m glad she called you.” Sort of. “And, you asked her about me?” She parted her legs a bit more and let one thigh rest against his. Man, he had muscles.

“I said that we saw each other at work, and you were generous in offering to accompany me here.”

Generous? Hardly. Want for the man would make fulfilling Hannah’s request the easiest thing she’d done in years.

She stood and held out her hand. “Let’s take a little walk.”

~~~~~

Pre-Order The White House Gets a Spanking at the discount — $0.99. Releases September 15.

Blurb: Stella Martin, reporter, single, Femme Domme meets the submissive of her dreams in Laird Harkness. Only problem, he’s the assignment she loathes to take. As the White House Communications Director, Laird’s secret desires could end his career. Stella calms his fears, as she sates his craving to submit, serve and belong to someone, but the balance of work and play is a hard line to walk.

Enter Elizabeth’s Rafflecopter giveaway in honor of this new release.

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Elizabeth SaFleur is an award-winning author of contemporary erotic romance. Many of her books were inspired from her thirty years as a PR practitioner in and around Washington, DC — where she learned not all power in D.C. is wielded by politicians. She writes, tweets and posts under a pseudonym since her business clients might be (WOULD be) shocked at her new career choice. When not writing, she’s dancing or drinking good wine. Life’s too short for bad wine. And, if her house were to catch fire, she’d grab 3 things: her furry baby, a Westie; her laptop; and her Sally Rand, 5-feet wide, ostrich feather burlesque fans — in that order. (Words of wisdom she shares with everyone: it’s never too late to learn to dance with fans and boas.)

The White House Gets A Spanking

1 Sep

There’s someone new in the White House.
And, brace yourself. It’s a woman.

 The last place Washington D.C. investigative journalist Stella Martin wanted to cover was the White House. But when a friend’s request to watch over her latest submissive plaything when she’s out of town turns out to be the White House Communications Director, Stella’s unwelcomed and unbearable assignment becomes quite interesting.

Laird Harkness hadn’t expected his perfect Domme would show up in his office—the most famous house in the world and a place where his secret desires could end his career. Stella calms his fears, but can she sate his craving to submit, serve and belong to someone?

 Releases September 15

 Want just want ONE email when the book goes live?
>>>FOLLOW Elizabeth on BookBub here.
>>>FOLLOW Elizabeth on Amazon here.

 PRE-ORDER The White House Gets a Spanking.

 

About the Justice Series, a Femme Domme series: 

Washington, D.C. is full of powerful women. In this series, each book will introduce one of three D.C.-based Femme Dommes—Stella, Candor and Julianna—and the submissive men who get what they need: discipline, love and a larger purpose. The White House Gets a Spanking is book #1.

ENTER Elizabeth’s Rafflecopter giveaway in honor of this new release here:

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 ~~~~~

Elizabeth SaFleur is an award-winning author of contemporary erotic romance. Many of her books were inspired from her thirty years as a PR practitioner in and around Washington, DC — where she learned not all power in D.C. is wielded by politicians. She writes, tweets and posts under a pseudonym since her business clients might be (WOULD be) shocked at her new career choice. When not writing, she’s dancing or drinking good wine. Life’s too short for bad wine. And, if her house were to catch fire, she’d grab 3 things: her furry baby, a Westie; her laptop; and her Sally Rand, 5-feet wide, ostrich feather burlesque fans — in that order. (Words of wisdom she shares with everyone: it’s never too late to learn to dance with fans and boas.)

Lord of the Ropes

12 Jul

Shibari

Dear lovely people–A.C. Rose is with us again. Today she has an interview to share with us that she did with Morpheous aka Lord of the Ropes.

By A.C. Rose

What is it about ropes?

Some people think it is a little cray-cray to want to be willingly tied up. Others are anxious to try it. And there are those who attest to the sensual power of being tied up and vulnerable.

It’s fascinating to see how ropes are not just an integral part of BDSM play, and at-home sexy times, but have been elevated to an art form.

I reached out to Morpheous – that’s Lord Morpheous, to you – a sex educator, photographer, and kinkster based in New York and Toronto who knows the ropes when it comes to ropes. He is author of the new book, HOW TO BE KNOTTY: THE ESSENTIAL GUIDE TO MODERN ROPE BONDAGE. 

His book is a beautifully executed collection of images with how-to instructions that illustrate many creative ways to tie one on.

He also teaches rope safety in the book.

Morpheous has taught workshops and performed rope bondage around the world and is the founder of Morpheous’ Bondage Extravaganza, reportedly the world’s largest public rope bondage event.  His work is included in academic collections and museums, as well as published in a human sexuality textbook. He is also author of How to be Kinky: A Beginner’s Guide to BDSM and How to be Kinkier: More Adventures in Adult Playtime.

If you’ve ever wondered why ropes are such a big part of BDSM, read on.

A.C. ROSE: For those readers unfamiliar, what is rope bondage?

MORPHEOUS: Rope bondage is the practice of tying another person for the purposes of art, or sex, or sensuality; in fact, for whatever reason you and your partner do it! It comes under the umbrella as BDSM and is most often used as a communication between partners, a way of connecting in a sensual manner, of one partner handing control over to another. There is an artistic side though, and one that’s central to how most people do bondage.

A.C. ROSE: Do you have to be a professional to play with ropes or is there a safety course one should take before trying?

MORPHEOUS: You absolutely don’t need to be a professional to start exploring rope bondage, and while I’d always encourage people to have basic first aid training if they’re going to get into bondage (and, in fact, even if they’re not), you can learn everything you need to learn about safety as you learn the basics of bondage. I’ve written several books and each one of them covers bondage basics and basic bondage safety to a different extent. It’s all about communicating well, checking in often and having certain important bits of safety hardware on hand at all times.

A.C. ROSE: Why do you consider modern bondage both art and eroticism?

MORPHEOUS: The rope bondage that we know today is most often a fusion of both the Eastern and Western styles, and one has a more artistic bent while the other is more about restraint. My personal style is certainly a fusion of these two styles—with a creative twist of my own. While modern bondage is very much about restraint for sexual or sensory purposes, the shapes of the body, the shapes of the rope and the different materials used means that there’s an incredible art to it—not to mention to the process of tying itself. Watching a talented rigger tie their submissive is almost as sexual as being tied yourself. The fluidity of the movement, the lines, the patterns, the almost visible chemistry between the two…it’s nothing short of art.

A.C. ROSE: Many people find the idea of being tied up a scary because of the connotation of being tied up, yet some are drawn to it, and find it exciting.  What is the draw to those who like it?

MORPHEOUS: The draw is, I think, that very vulnerability that some people find scary. To hand yourself over completely to another person is very intense, and it’s that intensity that is at the heart of all BDSM play. Whether you’re being tied or being spanked or letting someone mess with your head, its all based on the trust that you have in that other person—which is why it’s also so important to only play with people who you can trust and who have proven themselves to be trustworthy.A.C. ROSE: When you are working with ropes, are you a master, artist, or hedonist?

MORPHEOUS: I’m all three! The hedonism comes from the thrill of the connection and of the process of bondage; at no point does your desire for sexual contact or the drive to master someone else overcome your consideration for their wellbeing. A good rigger (the person who ties someone else) always, always has safety and security at the forefront of their mind. But then domination of your partner and artistic creativity are also in there too.

A.C. ROSE: There are many different examples in How to Be Knotty. Do you have a favorite technique? And why.

MORPHEOUS: It would be impossible for me to pick a favorite tie or type of tie. My favorite knots and binds change according to who I’m tying and for what purpose. Sometimes you don’t want to engage in intense sex play but you want to feel connected to your partner; the ties that I choose at that point will be very different to the ties I choose for a hot and heavy session. It also changes according to the body type and limitations of your partner. For instance, some people are more flexible than others; some have larger muscles or body parts in certain places, and some just don’t like to have rope across their chests or between their legs or around their hands. The beauty of bondage is that it is so adaptable—and it’s so fun to play with!

A.C. ROSE: Can you explain what ‘sub space’ is and how people get there?

MORPHEOUS: Subspace is the mental space that some submissives reach when they are tied (or when they are otherwise engaged in BDSM play). In subspace you’re consumed by your immediate sensory experience; everything else seems to drop away, and you become serene in the space you’re in, your connection with your rigger front and center of your being. It’s a glorious place to be—although, much like with orgasm, some people find it much easier to reach than others and some might never achieve it.

A.C. ROSE: Once someone is tied, what are some of the pleasures that are administered? Anything goes?

MORPHEOUS: Absolutely not. “Anything goes” isn’t something that should ever be said of anyone engaged in BDSM play of any type. Everyone has boundaries, both physical and mental, and this is a conversation that should ALWAYS be had before you engage in any type of BDSM, especially bondage, and you should also both check in throughout play. You can be very much attracted to the idea of something in theory and then not that into it in reality, and in that case, play should always be stopped.

However, the range of potential pleasures is almost endless! Penetrative sex, non-penetrative sex, sensation play — spanking, playing with pegs, wax, ice, etc.—whatever your partner is into is likely to be heightened when they’re tied. And it’s always fun to find out what they like best!

A.C. ROSE: Is expert rope play one of the more sophisticated aspects of modern BDSM? Or is it just a normal part of the lifestyle?

MORPHEOUS: BDSM term is an umbrella term for many different types of play, and a lot of kinky folks aren’t into rope play at all. However, when you’re at expert level of anything, I would say you’re moving towards the more intense end of the spectrum. You don’t get to be a master at rope without putting in a lot of time, effort, learning and most likely budget too, and you wouldn’t do anything of that if you weren’t hugely passionate about it.

A.C. ROSE: What is it about rope … that makes it so erotic?

MORPHEOUS: Everything! For me, it’s the smell, it’s the feel, it’s the look of it, it’s the marks that rope leaves on skin, it’s the flexibility and malleability of the material, it’s the colour… and it’s what you get to do with it. There are lots of different types of rope and different materials that rope can be made from, and each one has a whole different atmosphere to it. Personally, I love the traditional textures of hemp and hessian, as these look incredibly retro and hardcore.

A.C. ROSE: Does your local hardware proprietor know what you use it for?

MORPHEOUS: I like to buy from particular artisans and local producers who definitely know what I’m using their wares for. However, I’ve been known to buy emergency gear at my local hardware store and I’ve been there enough and said enough things loudly that if he doesn’t know by now, I’d be surprised!

A.C. ROSE: Do you also like, and partake in, vanilla sex?

MORPHEOUS: Of course! You can’t be kink 24/7, and sometimes after a long week all I want to do is cuddle with my incredible wife and eat ice cream and watch movies and have “nice” sex. However that never lasts too long. J

Thank you to A.C. Rose and to Morpheous for sharing their thoughts on this delicious topic with us today. Here’s a link where you can order HOW TO BE KNOTTY: THE ESSENTIAL GUIDE TO MODERN ROPE BONDAGE. 

Click to buy.

A.C. Rose is a love, romance, and entertainment columnist and author of steamy romance books. Her Latest book is STAY AFTER CLASS

A super hot professor.
A beautiful student ready to swipe her V-card.
A gorgeous, naked art model.
The sketch that links them all.

Amanda Slade has a major crush on her sexy art professor and wants his help with an important extracurricular activity—losing her virginity.

Professor Jem Nichols knows falling for his beautiful student is a bad idea but he just can’t say goodbye as the semester ends. But the professor refuses to hastily take her virtue. Instead, he wants to slowly teach her the most important lessons of lovemaking.

By the time they’re done, he’ll know every inch of her body. But with the pressure building around his upcoming art show and her sexual debut, will Jem be the one to take her all the way?

School’s out, but the love affair is just beginning.

Find A.C. Rose on the web:

Website
http://acroseauthor.net/

Hot Romance column:  http://thethreetomatoes.com/category/love-sex/hot-romance

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.”

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