Charity Sunday: For the joys we take for granted – #CureSMA #Research #CharitySunday

Welcome to this month’s Charity Sunday. As you probably know by now, I devote the last Sunday of each month to showcasing some worthy cause. Then I commit to making a donation to that cause for each comment I receive.

Today I’m highlighting a very personal charity, CureSMA. This organization is dedicated to supporting individuals and families affected by spinal muscular atrophy, a devastating hereditary disease that affects about one in 10,000 children in the U.S. Many children born with SMA will die within the first two years of their lives. If they survive, they may be profoundly disabled.

I have a nine-year old cousin who has SMA. When he was an infant, he was fortunate enough to participate in a trial for a new drug and to have survived much longer than many SMA sufferers. However, his life – and that of his parents – is very difficult. Many of the activities we take for granted, the joys of everyday life, are impossible for him.

Among other activities, CureSMA funds research into potential new therapies. Given modern advances in genetic modifications, I have some hope that Danny’s condition may be at least partially reversed in the future. But this will only happen if research into this relatively rare condition continues—research that is threatened by the current cost-cutting frenzy in Washington.

Anyway, this month I will donate two dollars to Cure SMA for each comment I receive on this post.

I don’t have any stories even remotely linked to this month’s cause. So I’ll just pick an excerpt from my first novel, Raw Silk. The expanded 25^th Anniversary Edition is now available in e-book and print.

Excerpt (Rated X)

“Time for the next scene.” Before she knew what was happening, he had swooped down and picked her up. Her shoes fell off with a clatter. Distracted by the formidable strength in his arms, the iron muscles rippling beneath his shirt, she hardly noticed.

He carried her over to the bed and laid her down on her back. “Lift your arms above your head,” he commanded. As she complied, her hand brushed against something dangling from the headboard. She turned to look at the braided ropes of purple silk fastened to the rattan spokes and suddenly understood why Gregory had disappeared when she first arrived. A few things to attend to, he’d said. So he had left her with his lady co-conspirator, trusting his comrade and the performance to inflame her senses and imagination, while he came and installed these bonds.

Gregory watched the comprehension dawning in her eyes. “Yes, Kate. I prepared these for you. Only for you.”

He leaned closer. “I want to tie you here, hand and foot, so that you will be more completely at my disposal. I believe that you want that, too. But you must tell me so. I will not do this without your permission.”

Kate was silent. She had never been so unsure in her life. Fear, suspicion, shame, and distrust warred with curiosity and desire. In his arms she had felt both sheltered and helpless, and she longed for those feelings again. Yet he was essentially a stranger, she reminded herself—a stranger with a shady profession and an unsavory reputation.

When she looked at him, though, she saw attentive concern in his eyes, belying the fierce reality of the cock which pulsed hugely from his fly. The sight of his manhood sent a delicious weakness through her limbs. I must be crazy, she thought, as she nodded her assent.

“Do it,” she murmured, and did not trust herself to say anymore.

With expert skill, he bound her wrists with the silken braids. “Silk is a marvelous substance,” he commented. “So soft, but incredibly strong. Like you, my little Kate. I know that you can endure much. Much more than you would believe.”

She shivered, wondering exactly what he meant. He was working on her ankles now, in a business-like fashion, leaving her knees bent and open so that her sex was spread wide. Every time he touched her, heat rippled through her to that burning center, still sensitive and hungry from her earlier ministrations. She squirmed a bit, pushing her pelvis toward him.

“Be still,” he said sharply. “Be patient. You must learn to wait.”

Finally, she was bound, restrained from all but the most subtle movements. She found she was panting. Gregory stood at the foot of the bed, admiring her, or his handiwork.

“Excellent. Just as I’d imagined.”

He began to remove his clothes. Her eyes followed his every gesture. When he dropped his shirt to the floor, Kate sucked in her breath. Marshall’s left arm, from shoulder to wrist, was elaborately and beautifully tattooed. A pattern of multicolored flames writhed over his flesh—scarlet, green and turquoise. A trick of the flashing neon, or perhaps simply the motion of his muscles, made the flames dance across his flesh as if they were consuming him. A similar flame flickered in his blue eyes as he pulled off his trousers.

He mounted the bed and straddled her with his thighs. His engorged cock hovered above her body. Despite her best intentions, she arched upward, drawn to his flesh like iron to a magnet. In response, he leaned over to pinch both her nipples, hard enough that she cried out.

“Still, I said! You are mine now, mine to do as I wish. I will fuck you, or not fuck you, as I please. But,” he added, smiling, “I do please.”

The bonds already held her wide open. Her sex was already drenched with arousal. Holding her pinned with those ice-blue eyes, he sank his penis into the heart of her, into depths she had not known existed.

Find the buy links at https://www.lisabetsarai.com/rawsilkbook.html

Don’t forget to leave a comment. Every one is a spark of hope for families dealing with SMA.

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