Saturday Spanks: Never Too Late - #SaturdaySpanks #BDSMErotica #Giveaway

 

For today’s Saturday Spanks, I have an excerpt from my short story “Never Too Late”, published in D&S Duos 2. If you like “serious” kink erotica and erotic romance, you should check out this series (four books), which collect some of my most intense and emotional D/s tales.

Today I am giving away a copy of D&S Duos 2. Just leave me a comment!

He lounges in a chair by the window. The drapes are open. The lights of the Inner Harbor sparkle on the other side of the glass. The room is dim and I'm briefly grateful. Perhaps he will not notice my flaws.

"Good evening, Elizabeth." He doesn't rise. He makes me come to him. I stand before him, eyes cast down, feeling like a naughty schoolgirl. Sweat pools under my arms, spoiling my best silk blouse. Moisture gathers in my pussy.

"Um – I don't even know your name," I stutter.

"Yes, you do. Think."

I recreate my memory of him, from that fateful moment when I stepped into the lift and found it occupied. Tall, a bit overweight, but distinguished in his tailored charcoal suit. Black hair, dark eyes, brows that arched in appreciation as he surveyed me. I struggle to recall his badge. Even before he had spoken, I'd been flustered and aroused. Distracted. "Mark?" I say finally, a half guess.

"Good girl. You see, you know more about me than you think you do. You know you can trust me, don't you?"

"What?" Before I understand what's happening, he's looming over me, taking possession of my mouth, rolling my rigid nipples between his finger and thumb and kindling sparks. He tastes of the after-dinner mints they offer in the hotel coffee shop. His hands explore my body, weighing my breasts, groping my ass. Helpless, beyond rationality, I melt again.

"You know instinctively," he murmurs in my ear. "I'm the master you've dreamed of." He nips the tender flesh of the lobe hard enough to make me cry out. "I'm the one who will make you beg for mercy and scream with pleasure."

"No," I say. "I haven't. I can't. I'm married." My pro forma protests are weak, even to my own ears. He is already tearing the clothing from me. The first time his fingers graze my bare skin, electricity sizzles along the surface, down to my cunt. I moan, pressing against his still-clothed body. He chuckles and steps away.

"Turn around. Let me look at you. Especially at that fat ass." My face burns with embarrassment asI follow his instructions. It never occurs to me to object. I feel his eyes on the butt that I can't seem to shrink no matter how many hours I spend on the Stairmaster.

"Lovely," he says and I glow with pride. He is pleased. That's all I seem to need. He strokes my ample backside. When he moves away again, I nearly cry from the loss.

"I want you across my lap. I want to turn that pale flesh of yours a nice, rosy pink."

I obey. I can't believe that I'm doing it, but I stretch myself along his thighs. The fine wool of his slacks is distended at the groin. I rub my damp bush against the hard mass of his erection, the emotional pleasure almost trumping the physical. He wants me. That's all that really matters.

"Be still, slut!" He slaps my ass cheek with terrible force. The pain is a shock. He brings his palm down again on the other side, even harder. I whimper and try not to move.

He rains blows down on my tender flesh. Sometimes he lands a stinging smack at the back of my plump thighs. Sometimes he catches me across the crevice between my cheeks. The pain builds and builds until tears blur my vision, but still he spanks me, again and again, with the same ferocity he showed me in the elevator.

My ass feels as though it's bleeding and raw, yet still he beats me. His strength and stamina appear to have no limits. Floating in a red sea of pain, I sense his jubilation. As much as he has me in thrall,

I'm also giving him what he needs. I know somehow he would stop if I told him to do so. I can't bring myself to that point. I don't want to disappoint him.

When he finally does stop, I hardly notice. I've grown accustomed to the sharp sting and the deeper ache from earlier strokes. It's all I've ever known, all I want to know.

Blurb

D&S Duos Book 2 continues Lisabet Sarai's incendiary series with two more intense BDSM short stories. In "Never Too Late", a middle-aged wife and mother encounters the Master of whom she's secretly dreamed all her life. In "Just a Spanking", a dominant provides an answer to the question he's asked his long-time submissive: could you come from just a spanking? Also includes a spicy F/F BDSM excerpt from Lisabet's erotic thriller EXPOSURE.

Buy Links

Amazon US: http://www.amazon.com/D-S-Duos-Book-2-ebook/dp/B00T8G2IMU

Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/D-S-Duos-Book-2-ebook/dp/B00T8G2IMU/

Excessica: http://www.excessica.com/books/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=6&products_id=827

Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/d-s-duos-lisabet-sarai/1121171237?ean=2940150011359

Sunday Snog 234: Never Too Late (#bdsm #romance #sundaysnog)

My Sunday Snog today is from “Never Too Late”, one of the two stories in D&S Duos Book 2. It’s not your typical BDSM romance. The protagonists are middle-aged strangers who meet at a conference and recognize one another as soul mates.

Get your copy of D&S Duos 2 here:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00T8G2IMU/

When you’re done with my kiss excerpt, head back to Victoria Blisse’sSunday Snog page, for more sexy oral action!

"Look up, over your head." Leather cuffs, fastened to the headboard by clever straps. I swallow hard. My clit throbs, aching for stimulation.

"Do you always bring sex toys when you attend a conference?" I try for lightness, humor, anything to defuse the intensity. Does he really intend to tie me up?

"Not always. I had a feeling about this one, though..." He runs his thumb along the line of my jaw then slips it between my lips. I suck on it with the same enthusiasm I lavished on his cock. "I've been waiting for you a long time."

I've been waiting for him, too. I never knew, never realized. The comfortable, happy years with my husband and kids – the birthdays, the graduations, the snug, familiar, ordinary times – are suddenly as insubstantial as the fog gathering over the harbor. His hands on my body and his iron will are my only realities.

"Do you want me to bind you, Elizabeth?" He knows the answer but he's going to force me to say it out loud.

I can't bring myself to admit it. Heat crawls into my cheeks. I want to look away, to escape from those eyes tunneling into my soul, but he won't allow me to do so. "Well? If you don't want the cuffs, we can forget about them..."

"No!" I sputter, afraid that he means it. "I want them. Please." Now there's a huge sense of relief, magnified by his satisfied smile.

"Of course," he says, raising my arm above my head and snapping the snug bracelet around my wrist. "Whatever you want." In an instant, the other wrist is secure. The sensation of helplessness is overwhelming.

"I'm going to fuck you now, for the first time," my master tells me. "The first time of many, I hope." He smoothes a condom down the length of his cock. My mouth waters. I want to tell him to take off the rubber. I want to feel him, flesh against flesh. But I'm still too shy.

There's no foreplay. He knows I've been soaked from the moment I entered the room. His cock slides into my cunt like a key fitting a lock. I grip him with my inner muscles, pulling him deeper.

He's smaller than my husband, but thicker and much harder. I dismiss the pang of guilt that flickers through me. This, now – this is definitely cheating. The blow job, the spanking – one could make a case that they didn't count, but now another man is ramming his cock into my cunt and I have no excuse.

Except that I have no choice. I can't say no. It would kill me. I've never known anything like this fevered bliss. The stranger – Mark – hovers above me, driving his cock deeper with each stroke. I'm wholly open. It's what I've craved all my life and never known. I swear I never dreamed of this – did I? He makes me wonder, as he fucks me like the slut that I am. Perhaps I've always craved this kind of surrender, my dark desires hidden even from myself.

His cock breaks me apart and remakes me as someone else. I strain against the welcome bonds, grinding my pelvis against his. I'm crying from the pain and joy of it. My cunt shudders around him as I come, and come again. He won't let me look away.

I'm transparent to him. He knows who I am, what I want. There's no need for shame. As I gaze into his eyes, for a moment he's equally open. We connect. I sense his need and his triumph.

"Mine!" he growls as he swells and explodes in my pussy, still fluttering from my last orgasm. The heat bathing my tissues drags me over the edge one last time.

He releases my wrists and cradles me, kissing my eyelids, murmuring endearments. I'm in some sort of trance. I just lie there, enjoying his attentions, wondering idly when his demons will wake again.

BDSM Snogging from "Never Too Late"

Some people think that BDSM is about abuse and humiliation. I beg to differ. For me there's nothing as romantic as having giving over total control to someone you trust. It might be someone you've known for a long time, but then, it just might be the stranger you've been waiting for, to set you free...

Never Too Late is available as part of my short story collection, Just a Spanking. 

When you recover from this excerpt (;^)  - click on over to Blisse Kiss central and savor more sexy Sunday kisses!

 

He lounges in a chair by the window. The drapes are open. The lights of the Inner Harbor sparkle on the other side of the glass. The room is dim and I'm briefly grateful. Perhaps he will not notice my flaws.

"Good evening, Elizabeth." He doesn't rise. He makes me come to him. I stand before him, eyes cast down, feeling like a naughty schoolgirl. Sweat pools under my arms, spoiling my best silk blouse. Moisture gathers in my pussy.

"Um―I don't even know your name," I stutter.

"Yes, you do. Think."

I recreate my memory of him, from that fateful moment when I stepped into the lift and found it occupied. Tall,a bit overweight, but distinguished in his tailored charcoal suit. Black hair, dark eyes, brows that arched in appreciation as he surveyed me. I struggle to recall his badge. Even before he had spoken, I'd been flustered and aroused. Distracted. "Mark?" I say finally, a half guess.

"Good girl. You see, you know more about me than you think you do. You know you can trust me, don't you?"

"What?" Before I understand what's happening, he's looming over me, taking possession of my mouth, rolling my rigid nipples between his finger and thumb and kindling sparks. He tastes of the after-dinner mints they offer in the hotel coffee shop. His hands explore my body, weighing my breasts, groping my ass. Helpless, beyond rationality, I melt again.

"You know instinctively," he murmurs in my ear. "I'm the master you've dreamed of." He nips the tender flesh of the lobe hard enough to make me cry out. "I'm the one who will make you beg for mercy and scream with pleasure."

"No," I say. "I haven't. I can't. I'm married." My pro forma protests are weak, even to my own ears. He is already tearing the clothing from me. The first time his fingers graze my bare skin, electricity sizzles along the surface, down to my cunt. I moan, pressing against his still-clothed body. He chuckles and steps away.

"Turn around. Let me look at you. Especially at that fat ass." My face burns with embarrassment as I follow his instructions. It never occurs to me to object. I feel his eyes on the butt that I can't seem to shrink no matter how many hours I spend on the Stairmaster.

"Lovely," he says and I glow with pride. He is pleased. That's all I seem to need. He strokes my ample backside. When he moves away again, I nearly cry from the loss.

"I want you across my lap. I want to turn that pale flesh of yours a nice, rosy pink."

I obey. I can't believe that I'm doing it, but I stretch myself along his thighs. The fine wool of his slacks is distended at the groin. I rub my damp bush against the hard mass of his erection, the emotional pleasure almost trumping the physical. He wants me. That's all that really matters.

"Be still, slut!" He slaps my ass cheek with terrible force. The pain is a shock. He brings his palm down again on the other side, even harder. I whimper and try not to move.

He rains blows down on my tender flesh. Sometimes he lands a stinging smack at the back of my plump thighs. Sometimes he catches me across the crevice between my cheeks. The pain builds and builds until tears blur my vision, but still he spanks me, again and again, with the same ferocity he showed me in the elevator.

My ass feels as though it's bleeding and raw, yet still he beats me. His strength and stamina appear to have no limits. Floating in a red sea of pain, I sense his jubilation. As much as he has me in thrall, I'm also giving him what he needs. I know somehow he would stop if I told him to do so. I can't bring myself to that point. I don't want to disappoint him.

When he finally does stop, I hardly notice. I've grown accustomed to the sharp sting and the deeper ache from earlier strokes. It's all I've ever known, all I want to know.

He brings his mouth to my battered ass, licking and kissing his way from the base of my spine to the delicate crease where my butt joins my thighs. After the agonizing spanking, it's too delicious for words. He parts my cheeks and circles the knot of my anus with his agile tongue. I shiver and arch up, begging for more.

"Well done, my slut. You've earned a reward."

Sunday Snog: Never Too Late

I've got an intense snog for you this Sunday, from the BDSM story "Never Too Late", which is part of my Body Electric collection. And if you like BDSM - get yourself a copy of Just a Spanking, offering lots more dominance and submission with a strong dose of romance.

Don't forget to visit Victoria Blisse at Snog Central for many more sexy snogs -this and every Sunday. After all a Sunday without snogs is like a sundae without whipped cream.

****

I'm outside his room at seven sharp, heart pounding as though I'd run a marathon. What am I doing? I'm fifty five, married nearly three decades. I'm a grandmother, for heaven's sake. The keycard slides into the lock. The light flashes green. I step across the threshold, knowing the risks but unable to stop myself.

He lounges in a chair by the window. The drapes are open. The lights of the Inner Harbor sparkle on the other side of the glass. The room is dim and I'm briefly grateful. Perhaps he will not notice my flaws.

"Good evening, Elizabeth." He doesn't rise. He makes me come to him. I stand before him, eyes cast down, feeling like a naughty schoolgirl. Sweat pools under my arms, spoiling my best silk blouse. Moisture gathers in my pussy.

"Um―I don't even know your name," I stutter.

"Yes, you do. Think."

I recreate my memory of him, from that fateful moment when I stepped into the lift and found it occupied. Tall,a bit overweight, but distinguished in his tailored charcoal suit. Black hair, dark eyes, brows that arched in appreciation as he surveyed me. I struggle to recall his badge. Even before he had spoken, I'd been flustered and aroused. Distracted. "Mark?" I say finally, a half guess.

"Good girl. You see, you know more about me than you think you do. You know you can trust me, don't you?"

"What?" Before I understand what's happening, he's looming over me, taking possession of my mouth, rolling my rigid nipples between his finger and thumb and kindling sparks. He tastes of the after-dinner mints they offer in the hotel coffee shop. His hands explore my body, weighing my breasts, groping my ass. Helpless, beyond rationality, I melt again.

"You know instinctively," he murmurs in my ear. "I'm the master you've dreamed of." He nips the tender flesh of the lobe hard enough to make me cry out. "I'm the one who will make you beg for mercy and scream with pleasure."

"No," I say. "I haven't. I can't. I'm married." My pro forma protests are weak, even to my own ears. He is already tearing the clothing from me. The first time his fingers graze my bare skin, electricity sizzles along the surface, down to my cunt. I moan, pressing against his still-clothed body. He chuckles and steps away.

"Turn around. Let me look at you. Especially at that fat ass." My face burns with embarrassment as I follow his instructions. It never occurs to me to object. I feel his eyes on the butt that I can't seem to shrink no matter how many hours I spend on the Stairmaster.

"Lovely," he says and I glow with pride. He is pleased. That's all I seem to need. He strokes my ample backside. When he moves away again, I nearly cry from the loss.