A femdom snippet from The Ingredients of Bliss - #SaturdaySpanks #FemDom #BDSMRomance

LastWednesday, for the Book Hooks blog hop, I featured a fairly tame excerpt from my BDSM ménage erotic romance, The Ingredients of Bliss. For today’s Saturday Spanks post, I thought I should give you something spicier.

Here’s part of a hot femdom scene, set in a Paris hotel. Emily has been ordered by her master Harry to dominate her boss, impeccable French chef Etienne.

It’s complicated...

Enjoy!

Kicking off my shoes, I sat cross-legged on the bed across from the chair, examining its bound occupant. Less than a meter separated us. I could see the sheen of sweat on my captive’s forehead, the clear droplets gathering at his slit then dribbling down his shaft. My position exposed the thoroughly soaked crotch of my silk thong. Etienne licked his lips. His cock twitched as though he’d been hit by an electric shock.

“Now that you’re tied up nice and tight, I think I’m going to punish you. You deserve it—begging me to invite you to my room then showing up dressed like the slut that you are…”

I crawled up toward the head of the bed, giving him a good view of my bum and opened the drawer of the table next to the bed. I’d been too afraid of customs inspections to bring much in the way of sex toys, but I figured I could improvise.

Pulling out a pair of lacquered wood chopsticks, I held them up for Etienne to see. His perplexed expression made me chuckle.

“Were you hoping for a flogger, maybe? Or some clamps? You’d be surprised how versatile these can be…”

Perched on the edge of the bed once more, I leaned forward and caught one of his pink little nipples between the tips.

“Oh…”

Maintaining an iron grip, I pulled. I’ve been using kuàizi since I was three. I know how to hold on to a grain of rice or a morsel of meat and not let go.

“Ow! Oh, mon Dieu!”

“Don’t complain now, Etienne, or I’ll have to gag you.”

I moved to the other nipple, grabbing and twisting. Ever obedient, Etienne swallowed his cry of pain. The first nipple stood up smartly, fatter and redder than before.

“I’ve read that chopsticks can be used as nipple clamps.” I snapped the wood against the nub I’d assaulted first. He flinched, but his cock was harder than ever. “You capture the nipple between the two sticks then loop rubber bands around the two ends to force them together.” Actually, Harry had told me this, one night when he had me spread on his kitchen counter with clothespins biting into my labia. The thrill had pretty much neutralized the pain. He hadn’t yet tried the chopstick maneuver on me. I suspected he’d get around to that at some point.

“By moving the rubber bands closer to the center of the parallel sticks, you can increase the pressure.”

“Ah—ar—ah…”

“But I find chopsticks also work well when you don’t happen to have a cane or a crop.” Using the two chopsticks like miniature switches, I struck both nipples at once. Then I snapped at his thighs with the sticks, first on one side, then the other, moving closer to his erection with each stroke. “And they’re very portable.” Red streaks appeared in the wake of my blows, nicely parallel lines decorating his tanned skin.

How could I be doing this? And enjoying it? Because I was enjoying myself, I had to admit. I loved marking him, the sense of power and ownership it conveyed. I loved the notion that he’d endure this kind of pain, just to please me. If I were honest with myself, I’d have to admit that I loved seeing the proud and domineering master chef humbled. I recalled those first few days on the set, when he’d dismissed my culinary creations as faddish and unauthentic. Now I had him eating out of my hand, figuratively and literally too, if that was what I wanted.

Etienne was whimpering now, squirming against his bonds each time the lacquered wood made contact with his flesh. I paused, mere centimeters from his cock, and brushed his hair out of his eyes.

“Should I stop? Is it too much?” I knew that if I lashed his swollen penis, the sting would be far more intense than from my blows to his thighs. I peered into his face, reading both terror and desire.

“Uh—it’s up to you, Mistress.” He wanted to know what it would feel like, I could tell, but he couldn’t admit it. This time, I wouldn’t force him to confess.

“Hmm. Well—how about one stroke on each side then. You mustn’t come, though. If you do, I’ll make you very, very sorry. Understand?”

He nodded. I planted a brief kiss on his ripe lips as a reward. He was really so sweet, so vulnerable, so giving. He opened and thrust out his tongue, rude and forward. I just laughed and pulled away.

“You know you’ll pay for that, Etienne.”

“Yes, Mistress.” The sparkle in his eyes belied his deferent tone of voice. Some slave! But how could I complain?

“Are you ready? Take a deep breath…”

I flicked my wrist and snapped the chopstick against his quivering cock. His breath hitched, but his eyes stayed locked to mine.

“Good boy,” I murmured. “One more.” I was tempted to hold back with this last blow. His expression changed my mind.

“Sacre bleu…” he hissed. He jerked in his bonds. His cock surged like a rocket and for a moment, I was certain he’d lose control.

I pictured my lovely red corset, splattered with his cum. The image was so erotic I almost hoped he’d fail. By some miracle of will, though, he managed to hold on.

****

The Ingredients of Bliss is available in ebook and print at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Totally Bound, and other fine bookstores.

Sizzling Sunday: The Ingredients of Bliss -- #menage #BDSM #romance #cooking

For today’s Sizzling Sunday, I’ve got a new bit from my MFM BDSM ménage novel The Ingredients of Bliss. This book puzzled reviewers a bit, given the complexity of its relationships and the fact that it doesn’t fit well into well known genres. But anyone who has read my work will know that I love defying convention.

Blurb

One sexy French chef. One kinky American TV producer. One ambitious Chinese gal who thinks she wants them both. The ingredients of bliss? Or a recipe for disaster?

Accomplished cook Mei Lee ‘Emily’ Wong knows exactly what she wants—her own show on the Tastes of France food channel. But life is full of complications. First, her deceptively nerdy producer, Harry Sanborne, initiates Emily into the delights of submission. Then her boss, legendary chef Etienne Duvalier, begs her to dominate him. Emily just can’t resist—especially when Harry orders her to explore her inner mistress. Suave and sexy Etienne will do whatever she asks—in the bedroom if not in the kitchen. And Harry, her lovingly diabolical Dom, adores pushing Emily’s limits.

When the network sends the trio to France to shoot a series of cooking shows on location, Emily knows her career is on the upswing. Her plans fall apart in Marseille as a Hong Kong drug syndicate kidnaps both Etienne and Harry. The Iron Hammer Triad mistakes Etienne for notorious gangster Jean Le Requin, who has stolen their drug shipment, worth millions. Emily realizes she must find the real Le Requin, retrieve the purloined dope, and bargain it for Harry’s and Etienne’s lives. The secret she’s been keeping from Harry might prove useful. Still, what chance does one woman whose knife skills are limited to chopping vegetables have against the ruthless cruelty of two criminal organizations?

“You don’t have to be ashamed or embarrassed,” Harry added. “All we want—both of us—is to satisfy you. To please you and make you happy. Can’t you just accept that?”

Harry hooked an arm around my neck and pulled me down into lush kiss. His tongue was assertive as ever, yet I caught a hint of uncertainty in his manner. Under his brashness, he worried that I’d reject the solution he and Etienne had worked out. If I did, would I choose him, or the suave, glamorous chef?

I relaxed and let him plunder my mouth, offering reassurance via my physical surrender. His hands roamed over my body, visiting all the sensitive spots he’d discovered in our months together. There was no pain now, only bliss, pouring from him into me.

Warmth pressed against my back. I smelled vanilla and thyme. Etienne’s fingers joined Harry’s, tracing along the top of my corset. He stroked the tender flesh under my arm, making me shiver, then let his palm wander down my side to the curve of my hip. His uncharacteristic boldness increased the thrill of his touch. You’ll be sorry, I thought, giddy with desire, as Harry continued his hungry kisses. I’ll trash your butt until you can’t sit down.

Etienne knew he’d be punished. We both knew that was part of his motivation.

Only part, though. I felt the hair lifted off my neck, the moist, gentle pressure of Etienne’s lips between my shoulder blades. The eloquence of that simple gesture almost brought tears to my eyes. I eased my lips away from Harry’s, beaming him a look I hoped was full of love. Then I swiveled to offer my mouth to Etienne.

The chef accepted my kiss with the eagerness of a starving man. He opened to the probing of my tongue, letting me drink my fill of him. I tasted the walnut mousse he’d sampled earlier at L’Auberge de Francois-Martine and the Courvoisier he’d used to wash it down. Under it all, I caught a hint of some half-bitter flavor that reminded me of rainy autumn afternoons in Jardin les Tuileries. As I kissed him, I realized I’d been craving this since the first day he’d graced me with that haughty smile.

While his mouth was subservient, his hands became increasingly more brazen, palming my breasts and thumbing my nipples, then sneaking down to tease my lower lips. Meanwhile, Harry was busy unlacing my corset. I hadn’t appreciated how much the garment had constrained me until he managed to slip it off, somehow without breaking the lip-to-lip connection between Etienne and me.

I paused to draw in a lungful of the sex-scented air and looked from one man to the other. Had Harry minded my kissing Etienne? Did Etienne think I was rejecting him for Harry?

Both of my lovers wore broad smiles. Relief washed over me. The last vestiges of guilt evaporated. And I was too horny to be embarrassed.

“What…what about male ego?” I gasped, as Etienne’s fingers delved into my cleft and found my clit. “I thought—oh, yes!—thought that you all see other guys as threats, challenges to your masculinity…”

Harry urged me onto my hands and knees and buried his face between my thighs. He slithered his tongue into my channel while Etienne continued to stroke tingling nub at my center. A new climax gathered deep in my pelvis—I’d lost count of how many times I’d come, by this point—encouraged by the wet shock of Harry’s tongue circling my rear hole.

“Other guys,” Harry replied, taking a breather before returning to lick me into a further frenzy.

“Not us,” Etienne agreed, diddling my clit with one hand while stroking his gorgeous erection with the other. I imagined that lovely cock pounding into my cunt. I could make those fantasies real. All I had to do was ask.

“We’d rather share you than lose you, love.” On his knees behind me, Harry ran his cockhead along my slick crevice, then pushed inside, filling my pussy with delicious, familiar hardness. He waited, letting me adjust to the welcome intrusion. I closed my eyes, focused on the bliss rippling through me.

Satin-soft skin brushed my lips, leaving a residue of moisture. My eyes flew open to find Etienne kneeling before me, presenting his cock for my consumption.

His eyes shone, blue as a summer sky. “If I could be so bold…”

I lunged forward and swallowed the whole sleek length of him. Etienne trembled on my tongue, but didn’t move or thrust, awaiting my instructions like the good submissive he was.

I sucked hard, my nose in the musky tangles of his pubic hair. His fists clenched by his sides, he fought his natural inclinations.

Sweet—so very sweet…

Harry drove deep, taking me over. The sensations dragged my attention back to the tantalizing ache building in my core. Yet another climax shimmered in the near distance, with Harry pushing me closer with every thrust.

Lovely, bossy, kinky, sensitive Harry, who claimed me as his slave only to devote himself to my pleasure.

I must have been a saint in a previous life, to deserve such luck in this one.

The Ingredients of Bliss is available in ebook and print. Get your copy from Totally Bound, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, or your own personal favorite bookstore.

Charity Sunday: Courageous Kitchen - #CharitySunday #Cooking #PoorKids

Welcome to another Charity Sunday. I am a few weeks late because I was traveling—I wanted to make sure I was here to promote the post so we get as many comments as possible.

Fate works in mysterious ways. Earlier this week I was pondering what charity I should select for this month, when I saw a Facebook post from an old friend recommending Courageous Kitchen. This is a really creative organization that works with poor, at-risk children to improve nutrition, life skills, language skills and self-confidence—by running cooking classes! The organization was founded by people from the US, but is currently focused on helping kids in Bangkok, Thailand, especially children of migrant workers.

I’ve always loved to cook. I got started cooking seriously when I was only seven. My mom had severe pneumonia and I had to help my dad put meals on the table for the family, including my two younger siblings. At one point, my husband and I had a floor-to-ceiling bookcase full of cookbooks. We did some purging before moving to Asia, but we still have a long shelf of our favorites. 

 

Anyway, the classes run by Courageous Kitchen are both fun and useful. Kids get the chance to practice English and to eat great food, all in the context of learning a skill that could lead to better work opportunities, or simply more independence. Go explore their web site: you can book cooking classes for adults or with the kids. You’ll even find some delicious recipes!

As usual, I’ll donate one dollar to Courageous Kitchen for each comment I get on this post. So don’t be shy!

Meanwhile, I have a hot and spicy excerpt from my cooking themed ménage erotic romance, The Ingredients of Bliss.

One sexy French chef. One kinky American TV producer. One ambitious Chinese gal who thinks she wants them both. The ingredients of bliss? Or a recipe for disaster?

“You’ve got nothing to hide now.” With his lanky frame, mussed hair and crooked grin, Harry almost looked like a teenager. A very horny teen, considering the substantial erection bobbing hopefully at his groin. He flipped back onto his side and fixed me with a slightly fuzzy gaze. He was irresistibly cute without his glasses. “Everything’s out in the open.”

“But it’s all so—complicated!” As usual, my objections began to melt in the warmth of his smile.

He danced his fingers up my outstretched thigh and my pussy clenched in anticipation.

“On the contrary, I think this considerably simplifies the situation—Ms Wong.” Etienne’s voice was deferential, but I read a mirror of Harry’s mischief in his expression. “I serve you. You serve Harry. Each of us gets what he or she wants.”

“There’s no more need for secrets, love. Or for surreptitiously administered enhancements to the libido, either…” Harry slipped a fingertip between my moist lips and grazed a fingernail across my clit.

My annoyance paled next to the flare of pleasure kindled by his touch. Before I could clamp down to hold his hand in my crotch, however, he’d snatched it away.

“Oh no!” I groaned, fighting arousal and disappointment. “You told him…?”

“I had my suspicions in any case. It doesn’t matter. Your methods might have been dubious, but I’m grateful for the results.” Etienne glanced down at the livid marks from my beating, a set of parallel strips leading up his lean thighs toward his rearing cock. “I might never have had the courage to act on my desires if not for your—um—intervention.” His voice held quiet pride.

“You don’t have to be ashamed or embarrassed,” Harry added. “All we want—both of us—is to satisfy you. To please you and make you happy. Can’t you just accept that?”

Harry hooked an arm around my neck and pulled me down into lush kiss. His tongue was assertive as ever, yet I caught a hint of uncertainty in his manner. Under his brashness, he worried that I’d reject the solution he and Etienne had worked out. If I did, would I choose him, or the suave, glamorous chef?

I relaxed and let him plunder my mouth, offering reassurance via my physical surrender. His hands roamed over my body, visiting all the sensitive spots he’d discovered in our months together. There was no pain now, only bliss, pouring from him into me.

Warmth pressed against my back. I smelled vanilla and thyme. Etienne’s fingers joined Harry’s, tracing along the top of my corset. He stroked the tender flesh under my arm, making me shiver, then let his palm wander down my side to the curve of my hip. His uncharacteristic boldness increased the thrill of his touch. You’ll be sorry, I thought, giddy with desire, as Harry continued his hungry kisses. I’ll trash your butt until you can’t sit down.

Etienne knew he’d be punished. We both knew that was part of his motivation.

Only part, though. I felt the hair lifted off my neck, the moist, gentle pressure of Etienne’s lips between my shoulder blades. The eloquence of that simple gesture almost brought tears to my eyes. I eased my lips away from Harry’s, beaming him a look I hoped was full of love. Then I swiveled to offer my mouth to Etienne.

The chef accepted my kiss with the eagerness of a starving man. He opened to the probing of my tongue, letting me drink my fill of him. I tasted the walnut mousse he’d sampled earlier at L’Auberge de Francois-Martine and the Courvoisier he’d used to wash it down. Under it all, I caught a hint of some half-bitter flavor that reminded me of rainy autumn afternoons in Jardin les Tuileries. As I kissed him, I realized I’d been craving this since the first day he’d graced me with that haughty smile.

While his mouth was subservient, his hands became increasingly more brazen, palming my breasts and thumbing my nipples, then sneaking down to tease my lower lips. Meanwhile, Harry was busy unlacing my corset. I hadn’t appreciated how much the garment had constrained me until he managed to slip it off, somehow without breaking the lip-to-lip connection between Etienne and me.

I paused to draw in a lungful of the sex-scented air and looked from one man to the other. Had Harry minded my kissing Etienne? Did Etienne think I was rejecting him for Harry?

Both of my lovers wore broad smiles. Relief washed over me. The last vestiges of guilt evaporated. And I was too horny to be embarrassed.

* * *

Don’t forget to leave a comment! Every one helps Courageous Kitchen serve more needy kids.

Inspiration versus "The Rules" - #Romance #Creativity #Genres

 
I didn’t start out as a romance author. My debut novel Raw Silk (first edition 1999) had romantic elements and an unequivocal HEA ending, but the book was marketed by its publisher Black Lace as “erotica for women, by women”, not as romance. In fact, I wasn’t particularly familiar with the genre. I’d heard of Harlequin, Nora Roberts and Danielle Steele, but that was about it. My notion of “romantic” tended to be emotionally intense but tragic stories like Wuthering Heights and Romeo and Juliet.

It was not until 2006 when I began working with Totally Bound Publishing that I encountered Romance with a capital R, with all its conventions and constraints. I tried to satisfy my editors at TB, to follow their rules. To be completely honest, I sometimes found it hard.

Portraying love in a developing or committed relationship was never a problem, but I struggled with sexual fidelity. My characters, both male and female, tended to be erotically adventurous. I quickly learned, however, that many romance readers won’t tolerate a hero or heroine who gets involved, or is even attracted, to anyone but the main love interest. They view this sort of activity as “cheating”, hence unacceptable.

Meanwhile, I’ve written several books where the heroine really doesn’t know which of her lovers is her soul mate until quite late in the story. Kate, the heroine of Raw Silk (now in its fourth edition and solidly branded as romance!) has three men competing for her affections. In my BDSM ménage The Ingredients of Bliss, master chef Emily finds herself in the middle of a complex, confusing, but thrilling relationship in which she is submissive to one man while dominating the other. Strongly drawn to both her lovers, she doesn’t make a clear choice until at least three quarters of the way through the novel.

Almost every time I sit down to write a new book, I find myself torn between inspiration and the “rules” of romance. My recent release, DamnedIf You Do, was no exception. My heroine Wendy falls under the spell of a charismatic stranger who promises her both financial success and the surrender she deeply craves. Only later does she realize that Mister B is not the true master of her heart.

Needless to say, inspiration almost always wins out. For me, that’s what it means to be an author. I have to be true to my vision, even at the expense of popularity. I might never have a huge following. Meanwhile, my dedicated fans know that when they pick up one of my books, they might be surprised, even a bit shocked—but they’ll find plenty of love and erotic heat.