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.

Dark desires flourish ... #BDSM #femdom #suspense #SaturdaySpanks

 

It’s Saturday – so let’s have some BDSM fun with a Saturday Spanks post!

This bit of femdom comes from my erotic thriller Bangkok Noir. In fact this book is quite dark and raw – one of the few books I've written that does not have a HEA - but this particular scene is enlightened by mutual lust.

Blurb

Dark desires flourish in the glittering City of Angels

Diana Fanning, aka the Professor, runs The Academy, the only genuine BDSM bar in Bangkok. She's the first person police colonel Apichat Weeranwongsakul consults when a bar girl turns up brutally murdered, tightly bound, with clamped nipples and every orifice stuffed with sex toys. The colonel figures the killer might be one of her customers. But he has his own secrets. He needs Diana to satisfy his shameful dreams of being beaten and abused.

Meanwhile, a mysterious American named Sam stalks Nok, the lovely natural dominant who is the Professor's star performer. Nok is used to being the one in charge. She can't understand why she craves the discipline Sam administers.

As more women are slaughtered, always in kinky circumstances, the Professor finds herself in an exclusive world catering to the perversions of Bangkok's wealthy and well-connected. Simultaneously looking for evidence and satisfying her own lusts, she doesn't realize until too late that the power she's used to wielding won't save her from becoming the serial murderer's next victim.

I made him wait for several minutes, while I became familiar with the belt. It was smooth and supple. I held it to my nose and breathed deeply; my cunt quivered in response. Leather always has that effect on me. I slipped the belt between my legs and ran it back and forth between my pussy lips. Lubricating it. The sensation was delicious. I found myself hoping that my victim would break quickly, so that I could experience some personal relief.

My first stroke took him by surprise. The leather whistled through the air and landed squarely across both buttocks. A scarlet trail erupted in its wake.

Apichat choked back a cry of pain and shock. I came around to look at this face. There were tears in his eyes.

"Too much?" I asked softly.

"Oh no, Ajarn. No. It just that it has been so long."

"So I should continue, then?"

He raised his eyes to mine. "Please, Ajarn."

My second stroke sliced clean and sharp across his shoulders. His body shook with the force of it, but he remained silent. The third blow painted red patterns across the backs of his thighs. His muscles clenched each time I struck, but still he made no sound.

Ten strokes. Twenty. His skin began to look as though he had been barbecued. I paused to check his state, a bit worried. His eyes were closed. His tousled hair was matted against his sweaty brow. His breathing was deep and even. And his russet-colored cock was rigid as stone.

"Enough?" I whispered in his ear. He shook his head.

"More," he croaked hoarsely. "Please, more."

I gave him twenty more strokes. His buttocks twitched and his back arched each time the leather kissed him. My arms and back began to ache. I'm not young any more. Still, he offered his body to me, mutely asking for my power, my pain.

Finally, it was I who couldn't take any more. I unfastened the handcuffs. He crumpled to the floor.

 

Was he unconscious? I crouched beside him, rolling him over on his back.

"Colonel? Are you all right?"

He opened his eyes and smiled, though his voice was a weak whisper. "Oh yes. Thank you, Ajarn." He let his eyes close again, exhausted, but his face was calm and relaxed.

There he was, simultaneously so vulnerable, and so strong. With that cock of his still rearing up between those sinewy thighs. I had no choice.

I reached for his trousers and rummaged once more in his pockets. As I hoped, I found a condom. I straddled his skinny body and lowered my slippery cunt onto his swollen organ.

His cock convulsed as my heat engulfed him. "Don't come, slave," I warned, "or I'll beat you some more." He said nothing, but I could swear that he struggled not to grin. Leaning over, I forced my nipple into his mouth. "Suck on this, slave, and be grateful. Maybe after I climax, I'll let you come."

He answered by arching his back, driving his cock into my depths. Unexpectedly, that was enough to push me over the edge. I plummeted down, down, flying through a void where there was nothing but pleasure. Pleasure swirled around me, shimmered through me.

I felt his teeth sink into my breast. His nails scored my buttocks. Dimly I heard grunts, sensed renewed heat as he exploded inside me. Pleasure, the sweet pure pleasure of lust long denied, washed every other sensation away.

Buy Links (Audio)

Audible: https://www.audible.com/pd/Erotica-Sexuality/Bangkok-Noir-Audiobook/B071PDZMWQ?qid=1496335661&sr=1-2

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Bangkok-Noir/dp/B072636CWY/ref=cm_cr_arp_d_product_top?ie=UTF8

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35280466-bangkok-noir

Buy Links (Ebook)

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Bangkok-Noir-Thriller-Lisabet-Sarai-ebook/dp/B00NIABWK6/

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/bangkok-noir-lisabet-sarai/1114303601?ean=2940150400511

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/th/en/ebook/bangkok-noir-4

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/28499362-bangkok-noir

New in the D&S Duos series! #NewRelease #Femdom #Giveaway #AuthorsGiveBack

Happy Friday!

Okay, so maybe the day of the week doesn’t matter much to you right now. However, I’m happy to announce my latest release, a new volume in my D&S Duos series of BDSM erotica.

D&S Duos Book 5 focuses on female-dominant scenarios. In “Shades of Red”, a young woman vacationing in Amsterdam rents a room in the fabled red light district and discovers the thrill of dominating a willing male. In “Poker Night”, a God-fearing, working class guy visits his Mistress to satisfy his secret, shameful needs. Also includes a sizzling F/m excerpt from The Heart of the Deal: Business, Bondage, Discipline and Desire (which is currently free on Smashwords as part of the Authors Give Back sale).

I have an exclusive excerpt for you today – and a contest. Leave me a comment with your email address. I will randomly select one person to receive a copy of my full length BDSM erotic romance, The Gazillionaire and the Virgin.

Here’s a bit from “Shades of Red” to whet your appetite. 

 

“So you’re interested in my little whip, are you?” I really don’t know where this dialogue is coming from, but it feels right. “What would you like me to do with it?”

He stares down at his feet, where his undershorts are still tangled around his ankles. I suddenly have a clear sense of his emotions, confusion and shame struggling with lust. For the first time, I understand how hard it must be, to admit a desire for humiliation and for pain.

“I asked you a question. If you don’t answer me, I’ll send you away.”

“No, please, don’t.”

“Well then, what do you want? You’re paying for this, after all.”

He mumbles something incomprehensible.

“Speak up!” I snap the whip down on the bed for emphasis. His cock jumps.

“Beat me. Please, Mistress. Whip me.” He looks me in the eye, his honesty frightening and arousing. “That’s what I want. What I need.”

Turning my back on him, I pick up the restraints from the table. His eyes widen.

“Kneel on the bed, with your back to me. No, leave the shorts on. They’ll save me from having to bind your ankles.”

In the confined space, encumbered by his underwear, he struggles to obey. His trials would be comic in some other situation, but at the moment they’re an amazing turn-on. I’m generally pretty bossy, but I’ve never before had a man willing to comply with my every order. It’s intoxicating.

His cock sways as he positions himself according to my directions. His thighs are muscular, tanned, and furred with black down. The pale moons of his ass are completely hairless. I can see that the skin there is sensitive.

My cunt is overflowing. The thong is so soaked that it’s beginning to chafe. I consider changing the scenario, flipping him over, straddling him, and riding that sweet, hard cock until I’m satisfied.

But that’s not what he’s paying for. Meanwhile that vulnerable, baby-soft ass of his is waking new and different desires. My cunt’s on fire; I want to make his ass burn just as hotly.

“Lean forward, chest against the bed. You can turn your head to one side. Spread your legs. I want to see your balls dangle.”

He almost loses his balance but manages to obey. “Good.” I stroke his butt gently. My touch makes him shiver. “Now put your arms behind you – hands at the small of your back.”

The restraints are leather, lined with soft felt and fastened with velcro. I wrap one around each wrist, then clip them together. “Too tight?”

“No, Mistress.”

“Tight enough? Try and move.”

He wriggles around, making his cock and balls vibrate appealingly. I lean over the bed so I can see his face. His eyes are half-closed. His lips are parted. “I have a feeling that you’d prefer tighter, more painful bonds, but this will have to do for tonight.”

The whip handle feels surprisingly comfortable in my grip. I experiment, whisking the thongs through the air, trying to get a sense of the balance. Then I bring them down hard on the bed beside my victim. He jumps.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Ready for me to whip your ass raw? To beat you so hard that you won’t be able to sit down for a week? Are you ready to show me what a pain slut you are, how much you can stand, in order to please your mistress?”

“Yes,” he whimpers. “Yes, yes... please…”

I swish the whip above my head and his ass twitches. I take a deep breath. Aiming at his right cheek, I slash the thongs across the pale flesh.

Buy Links

Kinky Literature – https://www.kinkyliterature.com/book/6852-ds-duos-book-5-/

Amazon US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B086LCM1W9

Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B086LCM1W9

Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1012222

Barnes and Noble – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/d-s-duos-book-5-lisabet-sarai/1136765078?ean=2940164018559

Kobo – https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/d-s-duos-book-5

Add on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/52907498-d-s-duos-book-5

Don’t to forget to leave a comment with your email address. You could be my winner!

Saturday Spanks: The Heart of the Deal - #BDSM #femdom #SaturdaySpanks

Today’s Saturday Spanks comes from The Heart of the Deal. It doesn’t include an actual spanking – but I guarantee that the promise is just as hot. Especially if you like femdom!

Enjoy!

“You’re going to have to do a better job of obeying me, Rick, or you’ll be sorrier than you can possibly imagine. Open your mouth.”

When I do, she thrusts her razor-like heel between my lips. “Suck on that.” I try to obey and at the same time avoid having my tongue slashed open. For the first time, I wonder if Ruby would truly hurt me. A part of me notices how the twinge of fear increases my already unbearable tumescence.

“I know that this excites you, Rick,” she murmurs as she fucks my mouth with her heel. “You can’t pretend with me. I see right into your slimy little heart. I’m warning you, though…” She pulls out her heel, raking it against the insides of my mouth, and leans over me, skewering me with dark, angry eyes. “If you come without permission, I’ll make you hurt so badly that even a pain slut like you won’t enjoy it. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Mistress Ruby.” Am I really like this, I wonder? A part of me is watching my reactions, from a distance, in total disbelief.

“Good. Now put your hands behind your back.” When I do, she circles behind me, and I feel smooth lengths of nylon cord wrapping around my wrists. “Try to get loose.” I wriggle and twist my hands. I’m trussed like a chicken, though there’s enough give in the rope that the blood still flows.

She sits down on a bench opposite me, her legs apart. A cloud of her musk washes over me. The lacy garment she wears is open at the crotch. I lean toward her, trying to inhale her, dying to touch her, to taste her. Her fragrant, shadowy sex draws me like a magnet. My cock swings wildly toward north.

“Want me?” I can’t answer, struggling as I am to suppress the cum that is boiling up my stalk. She knows the answer anyway. But she’s relentless.

“Answer me!” She reaches out and pinches the tip of my bulb with knife-like fingernails.

“Ow!” I can barely speak. “Yes, I want you. You know I do. Please, Ruby, let me eat you. Let me make you come.”

Her slap knocks me off balance. “How dare you? And what did I tell you about addressing me?”

My cheek stings from her blow. Pre-cum drips to the mat, gathering in a sticky pool.

“I’m sorry, Mistress.” Suddenly I am—dreadfully, desperately sorry. All I want to do is to please her, if not with my body then with my obedience.

The door swings open suddenly. I look up. The sight that meets my eyes knocks the breath out of me as surely as if Ruby had punched me in the solar plexus.

The menacing figure standing in the doorway might have been born of de Sade’s nightmares. Her ripe body is arrayed in red leather and gray steel, studded straps and woven chains. The bands bite into her fleshy breasts; the chains are pulled tight between her labia. I understand the message of this costume: my pain, it says, is but the merest echo of the pain that I can inflict. Blood-hued boots sheath her muscled calves and thighs. The heels make Ruby’s spikes look modest and unremarkable. The black leather gloves she wears have pointed studs embedded in the palms. Her hair is slicked back from her brow. Her eyes are heavily shadowed with black and gold, and her full lips look as though they have been painted in gore.

She is smiling, a mocking, knowing smile that shrivels whatever vestiges of my self-esteem still remain. I know that it is Margaret—only Margaret, I tell myself—but when she lays her studded palm against my cheek, I cringe.

“So, you’ve already started,” she says. Her voice is low, melodious, strangely soothing. “And how is our little Richard?” She grasps my cock in her gloved hand and squeezes, just enough to scare me. “Eager, it seems, for the evening’s entertainment. Is that so, Richard?”

She looks into my eyes, and I’m simultaneously flooded with excitement and guilt. I can’t believe that I used this woman so badly. I’m aroused and terrified by the thought of how she might take her revenge.

Margaret grips me more firmly, until steel bites into my turgid flesh. “Answer me, Rick. Are you eager? Are you ready?”

I can’t hold her gaze. I look miserably down at her hand clutching me. “Yes, Mistress. I’m ready.”

“Very good. Well, we won’t keep you waiting. Luna, bring in the bag so that we can show our little friend all the delightful things we have in store for him.”

I look up and see that Luna has joined us. She looks delicious in a gauzy white chemise that shows all her charms, and a tiny thong to match. Unlike her companions, she is barefoot.

She scurries over to Margaret, carrying a heavy-looking duffel bag. Then, to my astonishment, she kneels at the other woman’s feet.

“Open it,” Margaret commands. Luna hastens to obey. “Now, Rick, let me show you some of the souvenirs that I brought back from San Francisco.”

The first thing that she finds is a vicious-looking riding crop. It whistles as she swishes it through the air. When it smacks into the mat just in front of my knees, I jump. “Perhaps you’d like to be my little pony,” she comments, as she puts it aside.

Next she pulls out some tangled contraption of stainless steel. It takes me three breaths to recognize it as a pair of nipple clamps, adorned with tear-drops of dull gray metal that I realize must be weights. She opens the jaws of one and holds it just above my chest. 

“You seemed so interested in the effects of clothespins,” she remarks genially, leaning close. I close my eyes and grit my teeth, anticipating agony when she releases the spring and allows it to close on my flesh. But nothing happens. When I open my eyes, I see that all three of the women are laughing at me.

My cheeks burn. My cock throbs. Margaret is busily pulling more articles from her infernal bag, each one more obscene than the last. A heavy leather strap with studs on the end. A huge, realistic dildo, black as coal. A device made of fluorescent green jelly that I recognize, with a sinking stomach, as a butt plug. Leather cuffs and straps. “I didn’t bring back a cat,” she remarks to Ruby. “I figured we could use yours.”

Ruby strokes the leather thongs almost lovingly. “Indeed. I’ve been counting on it.”

For a very limited time, you can get your own copy of this taboo novel, completely free! See my blog post from yesterday for details!

Review Tuesday: The Wicked Sex by Lance Porter -- #femdom #mythology #ReviewTuesday

The Wicked Sex: Tales of Female Domination by Lance Porter

Nexus. Kindle Edition 2010

Different strokes for different folks. Reviewing erotica has made me realize the truth of this aphorism. When I read a book for review and find that it does not arouse me in the least, is that the author's fault, or my own? Is it possible for me to honestly assess the erotic potential of a work that bases its appeal on some fetish that I find completely uninteresting or even disturbing?

This question reared its head as I was reading Lance Porter's collection of femdom stories. I'm sure that Mr. Porter thinks that his stories are titillating. Virgin Books/Nexus must think so too; this is at least his second publication with Nexus, the first of which was apparently nominated for an erotic writing award.

So when I find that five of the six tales leave me unmoved at best,annoyed and disgusted at worst, is this because I'm not a femdom enthusiast? Because I am too blind to see the erotic elements in a scenario where a woman uses and abuses a man or men for her own pleasure? Well –I've written such scenes myself, and thought that they were pretty hot. On the other hand, much of the femdom work that I've reviewed has left me cold, or worse. Is Mr. Porter the victim of my lack of erotic imagination?

I don't believe so. The Wicked Sex has some positive features, but I think that generally it lacks a critical characteristic that is a prerequisite for an erotic experience, at least for me: sympathetic characters with whom I can identify. Mr. Porter's characters, both male and female, are either stereotyped caricatures, or selfish villains, or both.

The first story in the collection, “Bound by a Woman”, is the worst. Gunther is a middle-aged German restauranteur who is waiting to meet his gorgeous Asian mail order bride. Bee, the bride, turns out to be a cruel and self-centered creature who, when she discovers that he's not as rich or young as she had hoped, binds Gunther with her stockings, stuffs her panties in his mouth, and hangs him from a hook on the wall of his apartment while she goes out shopping on his credit cards. Eventually she screws his younger and more virile neighbor, and then leaves, with Gunther still dangling from the hook.

Bee treats Gunther despicably, not because it arouses her, or him, but because she's angry with him and doesn't care in the least what happens to him. On the other hand, one can't really feel much sympathy for Gunther (at least I couldn't), who is a chauvinistic liar marrying strictly for sex (and the satisfaction of showing off his Asian beauty to all the German women who rejected him over the years). Since I really disliked both the main characters, how could I get emotionally involved in the story?

To compound the problem, this story in particular had some very sloppy writing, most notably a sudden and confusing shift in POV from Gunther to his neighbor Siegfried during the climactic cuckolding scene. Then there are sentences like the following:

“He roared in response, squeezed her juddering ass cheeks between his clawing fingers and drove himself with ever-greater vigour. “

“Juddering” may not be the least erotic word in the language, but if I were trying to paint a sexy picture, I'd avoid it!

“Teen Tease”, the second story in the collection, is more tightly written. The narrator is an eighteen year old sexpot who gets her kicks tormenting her ex-gangster step-father and making her ex-stripper mother jealous. The tale offers some sly humor in its images of the narrator and her classmates in Catholic high school, trying to seduce the incorruptible Father John. I also found the unexpected twist at the end quite clever. But arousing? With whom am I supposed to identify? The truly wicked teen narrator, who delights in her cruel power? The disgusting mafioso pervert who drools at her feet? Sorry, but the only person for whom I felt the least concern was the beleaguered priest.

The third tale in The Wicked Sex is entitled “The Land of the Giant Supermodels”. The title says it all. A group of fifty or so men, applying to appear in a commercial with some famous beauties, are abducted to a world inhabited by women fifty feet tall. One by one the men try to escape and meet various horrible fates, until the narrator, the last remaining prisoner, is crushed to death in a supermodel's vagina.

This tale really is as ridiculous as it sounds. Actually, it's rather humorous, and again, has an ending that is more subtle than I had expected As erotica, though, it fails miserably, at least in my opinion.

“Heartless”, the fourth story, is a rather incoherent tale of a young man driven mad by his lust for the woman who spurned him. “Imperatrix”, the last story in the volume, postulates a competition between two dominant woman to see which one can exhaust the most men. In this story, at least, the men are willing participants, well paid to service and satisfy Valerie Sales and her arch-rival Katerina Dominova. The story is fun, if not very original, with a few genuine fireworks set off between the two women. (The men here are no more than animate sex toys.)

The one story that did strike some sparks for me was “Mistress of the Hunt”. This tale, loosely based on the classical myth of Diana and Actaeon, succeeds in evoking an aura of mystery as well as a terrible sense of tragic inevitability. Young, virile Acton is hired to care for Mistress Delia's hounds. He suffers unbearable desire for her chaste beauty, yet at the same time resents the haughty manner in which she wields her power. When he spies on her bathing, she exacts the ultimate in punishment. Mr. Porter manages to suggest that this scenario has been played out many times in the past, and that the future would see new incarnations of the Huntress and her eternal prey. Although the exposition is a bit rambling and Mr. Porter throws in a variety of characters that distract from the central theme, this tale does merit the description “erotic”.

All in all, however, I cannot honestly recommend The Wicked Sex. Possibly a true afficionado of female domination would find something in this volume that I missed. I know from personal experience that if a work of fiction pushes your buttons, you're willing to overlook (or maybe don't even notice) the literary rough edges. Possibly the right reader would finish this book with racing heart and engorged genitalia. I'm certainly not that reader.

Sizzling Sunday: The Ingredients of Bliss (#BDSM #menage #SizzlingSunday)

Ready to sizzle? It’s Sunday again, so I’ve searched out another X-rated excerpt for your reading pleasure. If you’re not comfortable with explicit fiction – maybe you should visit someone else’s blog!

Today’s sizzling excerpt is from my BDSM ménage novel, 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?

“Oh! That tickles!” I jerked as Harry brushed the feather duster over my bare buttocks. He had arranged me in one of his favorite positions, on my belly with my hips elevated by a pillow. Tonight he’d also spread my legs and tied my ankles to the corners of the bed—for greater accessibility, he’d asserted with a cheeky grin—though he’d left my arms unbound.

“Oh, please—oh, no!” His fluffy instrument of torture whispered its way along my rear crevice then fluttered against the sensitive skin of my inner thigh.

“Harry…oh…oh…no…ah…”

I writhed, trying without success to escape the maddening brush of the feathers. My frantic struggles ground my pubis against the supporting cushion, further stimulating my already aching clit. If only he’d stop teasing! I was desperate to feel him inside me again.

“Be still, slut!” He landed a solid slap on my bum. The sting provided a brief, welcome relief from the unbearable tickling. “Or would you prefer the strap?”

“I think I would, to be honest.”

“Well, to be honest, I enjoy seeing you squirm. You look delicious.” He traced the feathers up my spine.

I couldn’t help myself. I reached behind me to snatch the irritating duster away from him and toss it to the floor. “Oh, Emily, you’ll pay for that! What a naughty sub you are!”

Instead of punishing me, though, he straddled me and trailed a line of tantalizing, wet kisses up my back. Settling his familiar weight on top of me, he nuzzled the spot between my shoulder blades. Lovely heat shimmered through me. His cock wedged itself into the crevice between my rear cheeks. Constrained both by my bonds and his body, I shifted awkwardly on the pillow. I had to get that lovely bulk lined up with the entrance to my pussy.

“Oh no you don’t…!” Harry reacted by scooting up higher, so that his cockhead pressed into the curve just above my butt. “Who’s in control here?” He nipped my shoulder.

“Ow! You—but…”

“Who decides when you get fucked?” Was he really annoyed? I couldn’t tell.

“Ah—you do, Harry.” I tried to relax and lie still, as he’d commanded. He’d give me satisfaction, sooner or later. He always did.

“Maybe I should just make you wait…” His actions didn’t match his scolding tone in the least, though. Raising his hips and reaching between his legs, he adjusted his cock until the head bumped against my raging clit.

“God, Harry… Please…”

With one smooth stroke, he slid into my soaked cleft. “On the other hand, why should I put off my own pleasure, just to punish you?”

* * *

Buy Links (available in ebook and print, too!)

Totally Bound (with special bonus chapter!):

https://www.totallybound.com/book/the-ingredients-of-bliss

Amazon:

https://www.amazon.com/Ingredients-Bliss-Whats-Her-Secret-ebook/dp/B00S16WI0K/

BN:

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-ingredients-of-bliss-lisabet-sarai/1120338111?ean=9781784301965

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