Forbidden Pleasures - #Taboo #Kink #Culture

taboo (n): A social or religious custom prohibiting or restricting a particular practice or forbidding association with a particular person, place, or thing.

Origin: Late 18th century: from Tongan tabu ‘set apart, forbidden’; introduced into English by Captain Cook.

The Oxford English Dictionary

Every society has forbidden practices, particularly with regard to sex. Incest, bestiality, pederasty and necrophilia are among the most common sexual prohibitions. Many cultures condemn same-sex intimacy, sodomy and extra-marital sex. In some places, even today, any type of physical contact between unmarried males and females will be condemned and punished.

Humans are perverse creatures, though. We delight in breaking the rules. The more serious the taboo, the greater emotional charge associated with its violation. Fear mingles with desire to make the forbidden experience more exciting and intense than sanctioned sexual behavior.

Erotic authors are experts in exploiting taboos. We push our characters to step over the lines of propriety: to fuck strangers in a dark alley; to beg for a spanking; to watch a teenage brother jack off then slip into his room naked. Not every erotic tale depends on the flaunting of taboos, but I suspect that the majority incorporate some aspects of the forbidden, or at least, the officially frowned upon. Nice girls don’t get up on stage and take off their clothes. Proper, masculine husbands don’t get aroused watching their wives get serviced by big-cocked studs. Modern, emancipated women don’t allow themselves to be tied up and whipped by bossy dominants. In the world of erotica (though not in erotic romance), it’s rather unusual to find sex that conforms to social norms.

Some taboos are enforced by law, or by rules made because of fear of the law. In the United States (though not in some other countries), you can write about mother-son, daddy-daughter, or sister-doggy sex, but Amazon and many other outlets won’t publish or distribute your naughty tales. On the other hand, sex between teens (or heaven forbid, pre-teens) is strictly sanctioned. Porn film-makers are required to certify and document the fact that all their performers are over eighteen.

Other restrictions are based on convention. Many readers strongly reject any tale with adulterous themes, despite (or maybe because of) the large amount of cheating that goes on in the real world.

What I find most fascinating, though, is the way taboos shift. Back in Victorian times, a flash of ankle was considered terribly improper. Now tiny bikinis that cover next to nothing are perfectly acceptable on public beaches – and Victorian-style corsets are the height of sexiness!

Two or three decades ago, homoerotic activity fell into the prohibited category. Same-sex stories often focused on first-time scenarios, and included a lot of fear, shame and soul-searching. As societal attitudes have changed and become more tolerant and inclusive, LGBTQ fiction has changed as well. The conflicts tend to revolve around other aspects of the characters and their relationship.

Then there’s kink. The success of Fifty Shades of Grey brought BDSM out of the closet and into the mainstream. Before FSOG, we early practitioners of D/s felt like members of a secret society, brave pioneers, outcasts who broke the rules of vanilla sex and reaped the erotic rewards. Now leather-clad Dommes show up on daytime TV and bondage cuffs are sold in department stores.

Kink was a lot more fun when it was verboten.

On the other hand, I’ve observed a new taboo developing around sex without condoms. I subscribe to Selena Kitt’s Excite Spice newsletters, at least partly to see what other people are publishing and what sub-genres seem to be popular. At least once a week, I read a blurb about some well-endowed guy “taking” a woman “hot, hard and unprotected”. Of course, bare-back sex is fundamentally more enjoyable than sex with a condom, but it seems that to post-AIDS readers, it is also breaking the rules and thus has acquired a new erotic charge. Personally I find this emphasis a little peculiar, since almost all the sex I’ve had in my life has been “unprotected”, but for the generations who came of age in the nineties and after, unprotected sex is forbidden, risky and exciting.

This started me pondering the question of whether I could write a story about a society with taboos against using condoms. Perhaps the elders in this society believe that fertility is sacred and that women are divinely intended to bear children. In such a world view, creating a barrier between sperm and egg would be viewed as thwarting the will of the Creator, as well as offering opportunities for women to indulge in sex for pleasure rather than for procreation.

Wait a minute... this suddenly doesn’t sound so original...

I’ve penned a few pieces where I’ve played with the idea of how taboos develop. In Quarantine, after a devastating, AIDS-like plague apparently spread by gay men, M/M intimacy has become illegal and invisible. The US has succumbed to nostalgia for the fifties, heterosexual sex is the only kind that officially exists, and simply having a genetic predisposition toward homosexuality means indefinite imprisonment in a remote internment camp.

My scifi short Trespass (in the altruistic erotica collection Coming Together: By Hand) involves a society in which everyone wears gloves. Fashions display large amounts of skin, but bare-handed contact is strictly forbidden – and thus unbearably arousing.

Then there’s incest. The original prohibition against inter-familial sex supposedly derives from the dangers of inbreeding. In a world (like today’s) where fertility can effectively be controlled, is there really any reason for brothers and sisters not to get it on?

Sometimes I rage against taboos that limit what I can publish. On the other hand, if all the rules were to suddenly vanish, that might have a negative impact on my imagination. I could still write about sensual pleasure – but pleasure can be so much sweeter when it’s forbidden.

A Kinky Sizzling Sunday - #SizzlingSunday #NewRelease #VegasBabes

Fancy a bit of Sunday shibari? I’ve got another exclusive excerpt for you today, from my new release Babes in Bondage. Enjoy!

Blurb

It’s 9 PM in Vegas. Do you know your safe word?

Some people just won’t mind their own business. When an anti-porn terrorist group shuts down the Sin City Fetish Fair, Larry Archer offers The Fox’s Den as an alternative venue. With the assistance of newly arrived dominant Master Shark, plans for the Den’s very first Kink Night quickly take shape. Indeed, the denizens of the Den are practicing their BDSM techniques well before the event.

Blonde, beautiful and untouched, Patricia Hastings leads the Citizens Resisting American Perversion in their fight against filth. She’s determined to destroy the licentious, permissive, anything-but-vanilla strip club – whatever it takes. A smidgen of plastic explosive should do the trick... If only she can resist her attraction to the voluptuous, red-headed minx Annie, and her own secret craving for surrender.

Caught in the act of sabotage, Patty faces a choice: arrest, scandal and prison, or private punishment at the hands of Master Shark and his horny acolytes. Will C.R.A.P.’s paragon of purity uphold her prudish principles? Or consent to the violations that populate her forbidden fantasies?

Sizzling Excerpt

Master Shark swept his eyes over her curves, an appreciative smile on his lips. She straightened her spine, elevating her ample breasts. Her black satin brassiere couldn’t hide her hugely erect nipples. Giulia didn’t care. A quick glance at Shark’s trousers made it clear that he was not immune to her charms.

After a pregnant instant, he continued his lecture. “Shibari is often practiced on a naked subject. The contrast of rough rope and smooth skin is visually attractive, while the friction can be highly arousing. Beginners, though, often start with a clothed ‘rope bunny’, to avoid becoming distracted.” Some of the audience giggled. “If the subject does wear any clothing, it should be form fitting, like Giulia’s leggings. Otherwise it will spoil the artistic effect.”

Leaving Giulia half-naked near the front of the stage, he went to fetch supplies from some shelves at the back. The curious stares from the crowd only made her hotter. I can do this, she told herself. I want to do this.

“Today I’m going to show you Hisha Kerada —the classic diamond tie, sometimes called a ‘rope dress’. You’ve probably seen pictures. Actually, it’s easier than it looks.” He held up a fat bundle of red-dyed rope. “You’ll need about thirty feet of quarter inch diameter hemp or jute rope.” He waved his other hand, which held something metallic. “And be sure you have a good quality pair of medical scissors available. Just in case of emergencies.”

He rested a hand on her shoulder. “Are you ready?” he asked, his voice kind but with an undertone of steel.

“Yes—yes, Sir. Just tell me what to do.”

“Oh, I will, Miss Giulia. Just relax for now. Stand with your arms spread, as if you wanted to hug the audience.” There were more chuckles. “But try not to tense your muscles. That’s right.”

“We begin by doubling the rope in the middle, with the doubled part hanging down her back and the two strands draped over her shoulders.” As he illustrated his instructions, he touched her body only when necessary. That didn’t make the contact any less intimate. She’d given herself to this man, to be made into an object of desire. She’d relinquished her will; she was no more than the canvas for his art. The knowledge intoxicated her, spurring her to even higher levels of arousal.

“Now we fashion a loop at the back, between her shoulder blades—turn around, Giulia, so they can see, that’s right. We bring together the strands in the front —again, please—and make a series of equally spaced overhand knots: one at her throat, just below the collar bone; one between her lovely breasts—”

Her nipples strained against her bra, screaming, Touch me! Tweak me! His clever fingers lingered for a moment near her tits, and she knew he was tempted, but Dom that he was, he had unfaltering self-control. He created two more knots down her midline, one at her waist, one just above her navel. She struggled to remain still and not squirm in the direction of his fingers.

“Now we run the two strands up between her legs and up her spine. At this point, if you like, you can create an optional ‘happy knot’, like this…” Shark tied the paired lines together again, near the gap between her thighs, then pulled it up tight between her legs. Giulia gasped. The last knot was perfectly positioned to put pressure on her already throbbing clit. Each time he manipulated the rope, the friction became more intense. Meanwhile, the rope settled deep into her ass cleft, rubbing against her anus through the stretchy cloth of her leggings.

“Don’t squirm, Giulia. That’s a good girl…” The Dom continued his narration as he fed the rope ends through the loop between her shoulder blades, then under her arms and around to the front from either side. He slipped them between two strands, below the knot at her throat and above the knot between her tits, then drew them around to the back once more, pulling tight to make the first “diamond”.

Oh God! The hemp bit into the soft flesh above her breasts, not painful, but inescapable. He repeated the strategy, wrapping the rope below her tits this time, inserting the ends between the second and third knots, and pulling them to the back to make a second diamond. Her breasts were now captured in a vise of rope. The taut bonds made her flesh bulge; her nipples were so swollen she thought they’d explode. Meanwhile every tiny motion stimulated her raging clitoris and pushed her inexorably closer to climax.

Giulia didn’t want to come on stage, the way Jen had. That would just be too embarrassing. Yet as Master Shark continued to dress her in his scarlet cords, she wondered if she had any choice. He wasn’t teasing her, not directly. He touched her only in the most utilitarian way. Still with every loop and knot, he took more complete control of her body—and her mind. She floated, paradoxically relaxed despite the erotic tension singing through her limbs, waiting for his next command—turning to show the audience her rope-split buttocks, turning again to display her trussed up tits, every movement pushing the happy knot deeper into her throbbing cunt.

Buy Links

Kinky Literature – https://www.kinkyliterature.com/book/4255-babes-in-bondage-vegas-babes-book-5/

Amazon US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07ZNSS576

Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07ZNSS576

Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/988144

Barnes and Noble – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/babes-in-bondage-lisabet-sarai/1134430382?ean=2940163375479

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Add on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/48643050-babes-in-bondage

Sizzling Sunday: Sin City Sweethearts - #erotica #BDSM #SizzlingSunday

It’s Sunday again, which means it's time for another steamy excerpt from one of my books. Today I’m featuring my latest release, Sin CitySweethearts, the third volume in my Vegas Babes series. The book really isn’t BDSM erotica, but it does have a few kinky scenes, and I’m sharing one today.

Enjoy!

Blurb

Welcome to Las Vegas—leave your inhibitions at the city limits.

Like many newlyweds, Annie and Ted work hard, economize, live in a too-small apartment, and make passionate love whenever possible. They’re just a bit more open-minded and inclusive about sex than most couples—they met at The Fox’s Den strip club and bonded during an orgy. They’re delighted when fraternal twins Marcella and Madeleine McNabb move into the apartment downstairs. The innocent eighteen year old beauties have come to Las Vegas for university and to escape their overprotective family. Annie and Ted figure it’s practically their duty to educate the sisters about the real Sin City.

Marcie and Maddy prove to be apt pupils, with voracious carnal appetites. Before long they’re intimately involved not only with their upstairs neighbors, but also their hippie landlord and landlady, Maddy’s hunky coach, Marcie’s dominant department head, a handful of their classmates, a bevy of strippers from the Den and the infamous Foxy and Larry themselves. Then the four McNabb brothers come to town, threatening to drag the twins back to Ely, and things get truly wild.

Excerpt

Marcie stepped into the dimly lit corridor beyond the door, which clicked shut behind her, muting the blare of the music and the buzz of the crowd. She looked around her, her heart beating double time. She knew she shouldn’t be here. If a stranger challenged her, she could use the same story that had worked with Rosa, but what if she ran into Larry?

Her footsteps were silent in the carpeted hallway. There were several doors on either side, all of them closed, none of them marked. Annie and her friends were likely behind one of them, but which one?

“Oh, yes— please…!”

The barely articulate plea died away into a moan of pleasure. It wasn’t Annie’s voice, but it was definitely a woman—a woman in the throes of sexual bliss. Marcella tiptoed toward the second door on the left, the apparent source of the vocalization.

“Oh—sir!” The new cry confirmed Marcie’s hunch. Hardly daring to breath, she tried the knob. To her surprise, it turned easily. She pushed just hard enough to open the portal a few inches, then peered inside.

Blood rushed to her nipples and her clit. Moisture gathered in her cleft to re-soak her already damp panties. The scene inside might have been something from a kinky internet porn site—not that she’d ever done that sort of forbidden surfing—but this was real, unfolding just a few feet from where she watched.

A naked woman lay draped face down over a coffee table. The layer of cushions under her prone body was piled higher beneath her hips to elevate her ass. In the front, straps bound her wrists to the table legs. At the rear, a bar of polished wood at least three feet long held her shackled ankles apart.

She was positioned at right angles to the door. Marcella could see everything, quite clearly: her full breasts, mashed against the table; the tangled black hair hanging in her eyes; the sweat gleaming along the curve of her spine; and the angry red marks streaking her ample buttocks.

The woman was not young—Marcella guessed she might be in her fifties—but her voluptuous sensuality was overwhelming. A flush of arousal further darkened her Mediterranean complexion. She writhed and moaned, grinding her pelvis against the pillows. Marcie felt the vicarious effects as own her clit swelled and pulsed. Like the woman upon whom she spied, she was close to the edge.

A whistling swish was followed by a snap. Marcie gasped along with the victim as a ribbon of leather sizzled through the air to leave a raw new stripe on the woman’s ass.

“Oh, God!” the stranger wailed, in obvious pain.

“Too much? Should I stop, Giulia?” The man’s voice seemed familiar. Marcie widened the crack through which she peered until she could see the woman’s tormenter.

“No, no, sir,” came her choked cry. “More! Please, give me more!”

Marce swallowed hard. The massive security guard they’d met outside the club stood behind the bound woman, between her splayed legs. Tiny, that was what Annie had called him. He was fully dressed, in a tight black tee that highlighted his powerful shoulders and chest and trim black jeans that seemed painted onto his muscular thighs. His cock reared up from the open fly—the longest, thickest, most awe-inspiring cock she’d ever seen. It pointed straight up toward the ceiling, reaching from his groin to his solar plexus. Protruding veins twisted around its huge girth, like vines around a tree trunk. The scarlet head was so slick and swollen it looked like it might burst.

The guard pumped his meat a few times with his left hand then swung the whip in his right. With a sharp report it landed on his partner’s rear, carving a new trail of red.

“Yes!” she yelled, jerking against the cushions. “Yes! Yes! Yes! I’m almost there, sir. One more, just one more…”

Leather sliced the air, then her flesh. Releasing a garbled yell, she tumbled into a loud, energetic climax. Her master watched for two beats, then drove his astounding cock into her wide-open cleft, burying himself to the hilt.

She came again, humping the cushions while he pistoned in and out of her hole. Meanwhile he spanked her whip-battered butt, his big palms landing on her punished cheeks with terrifying, arousing smacks.

Marcella’s legs gave out. She sank to her knees outside the door, both hands stuffed into her drenched panties, frigging herself as hard as she could while she watched that enormous dick stroking in and out of the submissive’s stretched and juicy cunt. She nudged the door a bit, to get a better view of the swollen pink pussy-lips clinging to the guard’s rod as he retreated for each new thrust. Then he’d ram back in, until his balls bounced against her clit. The woman—Giulia, she remembered—took every inch of his unbelievable length.

Buy Links

Kinky Literature – https://kinkyliterature.com/book/5123-sin-city-sweethearts-vegas-babes-book-3/

Amazon US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07MQVSWCH

Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07MQVSWCH

Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/917885

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Add on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/43594528-sin-city-sweethearts

Saturday Spanks: Miranda's Masks - #SaturdaySpanks #FF #Kink #RolePlaying

Today’s spanking excerpt is a bit of FF role playing from my novel Miranda’s Masks. Actually that book includes pretty much every fantasy and sexual combination you might imagine. This interlude is one of my favorites.

Lucy and Miranda were room mates before Lucy moved in with her new fiancé Ray. In an earlier scene, she shared with her friend the fact that although Ray was very adventurous sexually, he doesn't share Lucy's interest in kink. Miranda promises to help...

Miranda had been worried that she was pushing her friend too hard, but Lucy’s agreement reassured her. She pulled over the straight-backed wooden chair that was sitting in the corner. Then she arranged the step stool in front of it. “Stand on the stool, Lucy.” The girl obeyed. “Now, lean forward, and hold on to the chair seat. That’s right, one hand on each side.”

Given her slight experience in dominance and submission, Miranda had wondered whether the position she planned would actually work. She was gratified to find that the body dynamics were exactly as she had imagined. The stool elevated Lucy’s rump to a level where she could reach it without difficulty. Lucy’s back extended downward toward the chair at about a forty-five degree angle, giving her the stability to withstand the blows that Miranda was planning to inflict. She laid the ruler on the desk, temporarily, and attended to her victim.

First, she adjusted the gooseneck desk lamp so that it was focused on Lucy’s upturned bum like a spotlight. Then, bit by bit, working to achieve the maximum suspense, Miranda pushed the denim skirt up. Lucy’s buttocks were sheathed in plain white cotton panties. Very good—very appropriate. She felt a surge of excitement, surveying those vulnerable cheeks, and an intoxicating sense of her own power.

After a long moment, she reached forward, grabbing the elastic waistband with both hands. As if unveiling a masterpiece, she gradually pulled the garment down, exposing Lucy’s deliciously rounded flesh. She remembered her night with Big Daddy, and left the panties tangled around the other woman’s ankles, where they would add to her feelings of awkwardness and shame.

At Ray’s, she had barely seen Lucy’s sex. The encounter had been too frenzied to permit aesthetic appreciation. Tonight, she could take as much time as she liked. Every minute that she delayed Lucy’s punishment would increase the blonde’s fearful anticipation.

“Arch your back, Lucy. I want to see that nasty little cunt of yours.” 

Lucy obeyed promptly.

Miranda licked her lips at the sight of the pink, protruding folds, vulnerable and hairless as a baby’s. When Lucy had shared their apartment, Miranda was fairly sure that she had not been depilated in this way. Ray must have suggested this little novelty. She smiled a little and retrieved the ruler.

“Perhaps I should chastise your cunt rather than your bum,” she said softly. “I imagine that this ruler would sting quite nicely in that sensitive area.”

Lucy whimpered. “No, please, Ms. Cahill. That would hurt too much.”

“But that is exactly the idea, my little slut. If the punishment does not hurt, how can it be effective?” She tapped the ruler lightly against the girl’s conveniently presented ass. “Still, since this is your first offence, although a serious one, I suppose that I will be merciful.”

Without further warning, Miranda snapped the ruler down smartly on Lucy’s right cheek. Lucy jerked and cried out. A streak of red appeared on her creamy skin. A matching streak on the left soon followed. Miranda paused, breathing in the ocean scent beginning to rise from between the other woman’s damp thighs.

She smacked the ruler against the right mound again. The sound of the flexible wood landing on elastic flesh echoed in the high-ceilinged room. She noted how Lucy’s lower lips swelled and reddened in response to the stroke. Another pearl of moisture escaped and trickled toward Lucy’s knees as Miranda addressed her ruler to Lucy’s left buttock. She resisted the urge to kneel between the other girl’s legs and lap at her juiciness. To banish any thoughts of such weakness, she increased the force of her slaps.

Miranda worked with deliberate care, evaluating Lucy’s state before each blow. The petite blonde was moaning now, twisting her hips with each stroke. However, Miranda noted the telltale glistening of moisture on those peach-hued labia whenever Lucy bucked away from the ruler. The woman was hugely aroused, despite, or perhaps because of, the pain.

After a while, Miranda’s wrist began to ache. She stopped for a moment and went around to look into Lucy’s eyes. Her face was tear-stained, but her quickened breathing bespoke her arousal. “Are you truly sorry for behaving so badly, Lucy?” Lucy nodded. “And do you promise that you will never again engage in indecent activities with another girl?” Something like defiance flared in Lucy’s eyes. Her lips were pressed tightly together. She was silent.

“No? Well, miss, I guess that the punishment will have to continue. I should have brought my cane, but I did not expect you to be so incorrigible. My bare hand will just have to do.” Miranda began slapping her palm against Lucy’s cheeks, alternating right and left in a brisk rhythm. Before long, the rosy trails left by the ruler had disappeared in a general field of inflamed skin. Miranda could feel the heat half an inch away from Lucy’s flesh.

Her own hand stung and burned, and gradually, heat suffused her whole body. Her costume felt tight and constraining. She longed to be naked with Lucy, to take her into her arms, cuddle and console her. However, she knew she needed to stay in character. She stopped spanking the reddened cheeks in front of her, but Lucy did not cease her moaning and twitching. “Nasty girl,” scolded Miranda, “I do believe that my spanking arouses you. Let me feel your cunt.” She thrust her hands between Lucy’s damp thighs, found her clitoris, and gave it one hard pinch. It was enough to send Lucy over the edge.

The petite blonde gave a scream and clamped her thighs around Miranda’s hand, humping the fingers that Miranda pushed into her. Liquid poured from Lucy’s depths, soaking Miranda’s cuffs.

When Lucy’s spasms had subsided, Miranda removed her arm. She held her wrist under Lucy’s nose. “Look what you’ve done, you dirty girl. You’ve ruined my suit. You will pay for this, believe me.” There was still fear in Lucy’s eyes, but Miranda saw exhaustion, too.

Get your copy of this brave and arousing novel today!

Amazon US - https://www.amazon.com/dp/B077J37RW6

Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B077J37RW6

Barnes & Noble - https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/mirandas-masks-lisabet-sarai/1127499525?ean=2940158774584

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/760225

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/th/en/ebook/miranda-s-masks

Add to your Goodreads TBR list! https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36622764-miranda-s-masks

Saturday Spanks: Like Riding a Bicycle -- #bdsm #dominance #SaturdaySpanks

Hey, everyone!

I’ve got another Saturday Spanks excerpt for you today. This one comes from one of my favorite short stories, “Like Riding a Bicycle”,  in D&S Duos 4. It’s about a married couple who had a kinky relationship early on, before careers and kids and age got in the way. Can they recapture the magic?

Enjoy! 

 

I'm brusque as I slip the blindfold over her tangled curls. I fasten a pair of cuffs around her ankles. "Hands down by your sides." When she obeys, I cuff her wrists and clip her corresponding hands and feet together. "Too tight?"

"No, it's fine, sir."

I pinch her butt, leaving a pair of livid marks on her pale skin. "Fine? I think maybe you're enjoying this too much." When I dabble my fingers in her soaked cunt, her muscles clench around me. I smack her butt with my other hand and she actually giggles.

"Oh, you're in trouble now, missy," I tell her, trying hard not to laugh myself. She winces when she hears the drawer open and the burp of the lube spurting into my hand. "Yes, that's right. I'm going to skewer your ass with a plug the size of Texas and then I'm going to whip you till you bleed. You won't be able to sit down for a week."

I proceed to make good on the first part of my threat, slathering the bulging purple device with slippery gel. It's about two inches in diameter at its widest point. I know that Mariah can take more—I buggered her with a bedpost once—but that was a long time ago. I rub the tapered end back and forth across her anus, working to relax her muscles. Then I push and twist at the same time.

"Aye!" she screams, as the fat bulb breaches her sphincter and settles into her rectum. "Ow!"

I don't wait for her to get used to the sensation. Grabbing the singletail, I swing it once or twice, trying to get used to the heft. All at once I'm consumed with doubt. What if I really hurt her? An incompetent whipping could do serious damage.

I slash the thong through the air once more and slam it down on the bed next to her bare feet. Her toes curl as the force is transmitted through the mattress. I'm not sure I can really control where the stroke lands. The whip whistles and cracks above her head—threatening but ultimately harmless.

The pause becomes uncomfortable. I've lost the rhythm of the scene.

"Sir?" Mariah sounds tentative, questing. "Is something wrong?"

Anger and disappointment rise together. "What? Why do you ask, girl?" I growl. Tears actually prick my eyes, me, the big bad Dom. I should have known you can't bring back the past. But it seemed, for a while, like it actually might be possible to recapture the magic. It felt so very right...

"Well, you said you were going to flog me, sir." Mariah's alto voice is strong and confident. She's not afraid to tell me, in her sub code, what she wants. She at least has no doubts.

"Are you trying to tell me what to do?" I roar. "Are you topping from below?"

"Of course not, sir. It's up to you. You should do whatever pleases you." She sighs. The plug in her ass twitches. "I'm yours, sir—yours completely."

It's scene-speak, I know. Mariah would never talk like this in ordinary life. Still, it touches me, because I realize she means it. She trusts me—still—to do what's right for us, to take her where she needs to go.

I raise my arm, suddenly strong. The whip swishes through the air, snaps and makes a perfect landing on her right cheek. A bright red line stitches across her creamy flesh. My cock throbs in response to her pitiful wail. Taking a deep breath, I land a powerful stroke on her other globe and survey its reddening wake.

Mariah chokes back her cry of pain.

"Are you all right, Mariah? Is it too much?"

"No, sir," she whispers. "Not at all."

She wants this. She wants me to whip her, to push her to the limit and beyond. I bring the singletail down hard on her quivering flesh. She moans and jerks in her bonds as I paint her ass with a brilliant lattice of scarlet stripes.

I slash at her with the whip, again and again, focused and untiring. I'm in control now. I can see exactly where each stroke will land. Every so often I snap the tip against the base of the plug, making it vibrate inside her. Mariah yells and thrashes about on the bed. I don't need to ask how she is. I can sense it. She's here with me, deep in the moment, giving her all.

Buy Links

Amazon US: http://www.amazon.com/D-S-Duos-Lisabet-Sarai-ebook/dp/B00VKQDZE6

Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/D-S-Duos-Lisabet-Sarai-ebook/dp/B00VKQDZE6/

Excessica: http://www.excessica.com/books/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=6&products_id=863

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Talking to My Selves: What My Pen Name Taught Me - #bdsm #shibari Kink #giveaway

By Holly Ryan (Guest Blogger)

About a year or so ago, I decided I wanted to be someone else. Day to day life was smothering me, I’d fallen into a funk with the books I normally write, and I needed something fresh and different. So I started writing really steamy books under a pen name. I named her Holly Ryan after the street I grew up on (Holly) and the name my parents would’ve given me if I’d turned out to be a boy (Ryan). I even gave her a whole backstory because I can’t help creating stories for everyone, even people I see at the grocery store.

Holly lives in the middle of Kansas City, for now, where she bases a lot of her sexy stories. She lives near the top of an apartment high-rise with her goldfish, Muddy. She’s single and prefers it that way, and all she does is write on her laptop, drink red wine, and have sexual adventures with a long line of worshiping men.

We have some things in common, Holly and I, but she’s much better at suspending belief than I am. For example, if vampires are dead and therefore don’t have blood flow, how do they get erections?

“Shh,” Holly tells me from her high-rise in Kansas City. “It just works. No one needs to know why.”

And dragon shifters… How is it that when they shift into men again, they’re fully clothed or conveniently buck naked as the situation warrants? Where do they keep their clothes as a dragon?

“Magic,” Holly says. “You’re clearly over-thinking this.”

Okay, but is it realistic for a man in his thirties who just orgasmed to be ready to go again so soon? What about…recovery?

“It’s realistic enough.” Holly studies me over the rim of her wineglass as she takes an extra-long drink. I often have that effect on people."

“Oh, you just reminded me…” The city lights outside her window twinkle over her glass as she juggles it to her other hand. She opens her Story Ideas document on her laptop and adds tentacle robot sex book to her list. “That needs to happen.”

I suppose it does, but I have no idea how I reminded her of a tentacle robot sex book.

If Holly has taught me one thing, it’s to lighten up, have fun, and to explore details about myself I’d never realized before. I would absolutely read (and write) a tentacle robot sex book, no question. Since “meeting” Holly, I feel more liberated and can look at life through a different pair of eyes, see new details I may not have otherwise noticed, and write all the vampire/dragon shifter/tentacle robot sex books I want. It’s refreshing. 

 

Blurb for Bound to the Boss:

When Addison Blevins lands a job at kink.club.com, she never expected to be working for the man she used to be in love with.

But even this company has a hands-off policy. What will it take to bring these two together?

Bound to the Boss is a kinky 11,000 word short story. All kink.club.com are standalones and can be read in any order.

Excerpt

He dragged the tip of the rope across my right nipple, tightening it into an aching bud, then coiled the rope behind my back. When he’d wrapped it around me once, he drew my hard nipple into his mouth and sucked and licked until I threw my head back and moaned. While he lavished attention on it, his hands worked the rope around me a second time, this band underneath my breasts. He pulled away, his lips swollen and wet, his eyes hungry, and continued to bind me. Slow and methodical, he paused several times to kiss me and to stroke my body with both his hands and the rope. Soon, intricate designs decorated my body, held in place with knots as well as my curves. He handled the rope like a real artist.

“It’s like cross-stitching,” I said.

He stopped and looked at me, his lips twitching. “It’s not like cross-stitching. Arms behind your back.”

I complied, my breasts sticking out even farther between the ropes in this position. The ropes fit snugly, not enough to stop my circulation or breathing but tight enough so I couldn’t move easily.

Once he’d bound my wrists, he said, “Raise up higher on your knees.”

The ropes creaked as I tried, and I didn’t get very far. He snaked the end of the last length of rope up my thighs, slowly, his other arm wrapped around my waist to help support my weight. He stroked the rope along my pussy lips, and I cried out. The bumpy but smooth feel of the rope rubbed me just right. My hips bucked and I moaned for more. His hand parted my thighs a little more, enough to maneuver the end of the rope up inside me. I tried to push down my hips, but he held my waist tight so he could control the movement. I whimpered. I’d never been so desperate to fuck the end of a rope in my life.

Buy links:

mybook.to/boundtotheboss

About the Author

Holly Ryan is a pen name for a USA Today bestselling author who one day said, “Screw it. I’m gonna write books with some serious sizzle.” She’s fueled by wine, which is where the idea probably came from.

You can sign up for her newsletter for epic sneak peaks and contests here: https://www.subscribepage.com/u6r1u1

Or you can check out her website here: www.hollyryanwrites.com

Thanks for reading! Leave me a comment with your email to let me know your opinion of Holly and her stories. I’ll give away a $5 bookstore gift certificate to one of you!