Kaci
lives alone, dreams alone. Her traumatic past is behind her, her
future faced one day at a time. Her nights are filled with fantasies
of dark erotica about being under a shadowy master’s control. but
no one will ever know.
Then
she’s spotted by a scarred dominant who understands the look,
smell, and taste of submissive need. Reno wants her and what Reno
wants, he kidnaps.
Her
Submission examines the appeal of capture fantasies complete with
forced submission, power and weakness, strength and vulnerability,
being owned and used. And ultimately—sexual fulfillment.
Her
Submission and the other stories in the Carnal series aren't
romance. They are intended for a mature audience and are fiction in
all ways.
Excerpt
Chiding
herself for not grabbing a flashlight, she pondered calling out for
Bob, but late as it was, those in the nearby RVs might be asleep.
Hoping she wouldn’t stub one or more of her toes, she put down the
tool bag and headed for what she hoped was the front door.
“Ma—am?”
She
stopped and turned in the direction the male voice had come from.
“Yes?”
Whoever
it was didn’t respond. Near as she could tell, the man was near the
rear of the deeply shadowed RV. He was probably looking at the
hookups.
“Do
you have a flashlight?” she asked. “Sorry, I forgot mine.”
“I’ve
got—I think I have…”
He
didn’t sound particularly elderly, just addled. Taking each step
slow, she closed in on what she guessed was the side of the RV. She
stretched out her hand, touched metal. Mindful of the angry
waiting-for-a-shower wife, she didn’t speak. As she recalled, a
number of closely bunched pine trees were at the back of this space,
contributing to the lack of visibility.
“Where
are you?” she whispered. “My tools—I’ll have to go back—“
A
form materialized, startling her. She sensed more than saw a human
shape. Years of watching her back kicked in. No one was going to
defend her, if she needed defending. She was on her own. She turned
toward the shape, folded her fingers into a fist.
Then
something slammed into her and knocked her backward onto the ground.
Her head slammed against hard earth. A hand clamped over her mouth. A
weight settled over her, knees grinding against her forearms and
preventing her from lifting them. The man—that much she was
certain—grabbed her hair and turned her head to the side with one
hand while still gagging her with the other. The way his body rested
on her chest, she couldn’t draw a decent breath. Much longer and
she’d pass out. Terror lanced her, making it nearly impossible for
her to think.
Maybe
her attacker knew what she was experiencing because he let go of her
hair and mouth. Before she could get her act together, something wide
and sticky pressed against her lips. She tried to shake it off, but
he stayed with her, hauling her head off the ground and wrapping the
gag around her head. He wasn’t content with one wrap. By the time
he was done, he’d looped her head a total of three times.
“Step
one,” he muttered.
Her
heart hammered so she thought it might burst, and when he climbed off
her and flipped her onto her belly, she did little more than try to
squirm away. He grunted and pulled her arms behind her until her
wrists were crisscrossed one over the other.
The
splinted pieces of her mind came back together, and she bucked,
screaming impotently into the gag. Again he sat on her and held her
down, still holding her wrists in place with one large hand. This man
knew exactly what he was doing.
“A
little risky,” he continued in the same low tone, “but I need to
feel alive.”
She
didn’t know what he was talking about, didn’t want to care, but
her survival might depend on learning everything she could about her
abductor. She wanted to fight. Every fiber of her being screamed at
her to struggle, but he weighed a lot more than she did and all that
weight was holding her down. With her arms wrenched behind her, she
stood no chance of pulling them loose. She knew because she kept
trying.
He
was doing something, moving to the side a little and shifting his
weight slightly. She bent her knees in an attempt to slam her heels
into his back. No matter how much she strained, however, she couldn’t
put enough force behind the effort to make any difference.
His
chuckle chilled her.
“Not
the smartest thing you’ve ever done as you’ll find out. Now to
prepare you for transport.”
Book
Links:
Vonna
Harper Links:
Bio
What
prompts a mild-mannered mostly law abiding woman to write erotica and
erotic romance, a lot revolving around BDSM and capture/bondage? Is
it the complex issue of taking or giving up control?
Vonna
Harper doesn't know and she has given up trying to find the answer.
It's enough that many readers are drawn to what some call the dark
side. All she asks is that readers understand she writes fiction--a
brand of fiction she finds fascinating.
Vonna has lost
count of the number of books, novellas, and short stories she's
written. What she has no doubt of, it's a hell of a ride.
1 comment:
Oh wow... this one has my attention...
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