Be My Guest On Tuesday: Christina Mandara And The Velvet Chair

tuesdayGood morning everyone and have a happy Valentine’s Day if you celebrate it. One of the things that annoy me most about the traditional happily ever after is that it always has to be about marriage. To be more precise, wedding. As if that is the happiest point in anyone’s life. So, it’s a great pleasure to invite as my guest the lovely Christina Mandara and her latest novel, The Velvet Chair. In her world wedding is not the end, it’s simply the beginning of what promises to be one helluva twisted fun. Join Mark Matthews and Jennifer Redcliff down the aisle and prepare for all the wicked things he’d do to his bride. If you’re bold and daring enough you might even join Ms. Mandara’s giveaway competition so you’d get a chance to win some delicious prizes.

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The Velvet Chair is Book One in a Dark Erotica Series called ‘Velvet Lies.’

Blurb

My name is Mark Matthews. I own half of London, and the part I don’t own, I’m working on.

Life was all going swimmingly well until Michael Redcliff entered my life, demanding that I marry his daughter. Actually, swap demand for blackmail. He’s got goods on me that I want no one else to see, so for the time being I need to be his little lapdog.

I’ll marry his daughter. I’ll give him all the status, money and power he can handle… for as long as it takes me to get a divorce. You see, I can’t renege on our little arrangement – but she can. I give her a week. One week and she’ll be screaming the place down for her legal counsel.

Excerpt – Jennifer

sexy blond in beige silk dress sitting on the black armchairMy hands were visibly shaking. Flexing my fingers repeatedly, I tried to still the tremors, but they were not to be subdued. It was hardly surprising. Today was the day I walked up the aisle and married… a monster. I was under no illusions that Mark Matthews would forgive me for what had happened, and I could hardly blame him. He’d been manipulated and sexually tortured until he could take no more, and then he’d been neatly cornered. He might have agreed to my father’s demands, but he’d come snapping and biting, feral as a wolf.

I sighed. Today was supposed to be a magical day – every little girl’s fantasy. A gigantic cathedral, a sea of flowers, a big fancy dress, and the man of my dreams. I’d imagined it would be filled with tears of happiness and protestations of love. How stupid was I?

Inhaling a shaky breath, I wondered what Mark would do with me. Having always been the sacrificial lamb in this family, today I was being sent off to the slaughterhouse. When I’d mentioned this to Michael, I’d refused to call him ‘Dad’ a long time ago, he’d laughed and told me to stop being so melodramatic. As if that made me feel any better. Dear old Dad couldn’t care less whether I lived or died, so I didn’t waste my breath trying to plead with him. All I had to do was play my part in this charade and he would be happy. I needed to keep Michael happy at all costs. The trouble was, in order to play my part, Matthews had to trust me, and I had a feeling that trying to coax that emotion out of him was going to be almost as impossible as trying to convince the Queen of England to relinquish her throne. Matthews wasn’t the sort to trust easily, and now that I had lost what little ground I had gained with him, I would be back to square one. Wrong, I thought grimly. I was going to be at least twenty stories below square one, trying to claw my way out with nothing more than my bare fingernails. Facing up to facts, I stifled a sob. The man was going to annihilate me.

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Excerpt – Mark

As we pulled out of the Savoy’s car park, Jennifer was a mess. I had little sympathy for her. Each heartbeat that tore through my chest was full of fire, which spat sparks and burned like acid. I was sitting next to a traitor. My body throbbed with emotion, and not the good kind.

I had to admit the dress she’d changed into, just a tiny part of the massive trousseau that was now being shipped to my estate, was rather distracting. It was designed in a glistening oyster silk that caught the light every time she moved. It was seductive enough without the two splits that ran up the side of her thighs, and when she’d seated herself in my car, revealing a vast expanse of soft creamy flesh, my blood pressure had taken a direct hit.

My temper was already simmering in a large saucepan full of resentment, but that turned up the heat considerably. I did not want to be attracted to Redcliff’s daughter. I wanted to abhor her with all that was holy. Desire would weaken my anger, and that must not be allowed to happen. I needed to have a stern talk with my overactive libido and let it know who was boss around these parts.

Little did Miss Redcliff know, but she wouldn’t be requiring clothes for the duration of her stay. I would thoughtfully be providing her with all sorts of novel uniforms, and when she began to bore me, she could just go around naked. I’d decided to train her up to be a sex slave extraordinaire, and it was going to be an exacting and rigorous process. She’d be allowed six hours of sleep a day, and the rest of her hours would be accounted for. Cooking, cleaning, ironing, servicing me, pleasing me, attending to her own personal fitness regime, and some more ‘standard’ training sessions.

Failure to comply with her new routine would produce punishments the likes of which she had never experienced. After her first misdemeanour had been dealt with, I didn’t think there would be many more. I was in bastard-mode, and the girl was going to know about it. She had just become my property and I would deal with her however I saw fit. The mark of my ownership would be indelibly printed on her soul by the time I’d finished with her. The damn woman was going to fear the sound of my footsteps, her body would shrink away from me every time I approached her and she would learn to obey my every whisper or suffer the consequences.

My lawyer had already drawn up two sets of papers, one for an annulment and the others pertained to our divorce. It would probably take all the fun out of the arrangement if Jennifer opted for an annulment, so I didn’t intend to scare her witless in the first few days, but I fully expected the divorce papers to be completed inside of a week. I just needed to push the woman to her absolute limit, and then smash her body into the next dimension. If there was one thing I was good at, it was psychological and physical torture. Okay, so that might be two things. In any case, I’d get those papers signed, sealed, and delivered back to Michael Redcliff before the week was out. Piece of cake.

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Buy Links:

Get It On Amazon!

Enter The Giveaway:

Enter HERE

A little bit about C.P. Mandara:

aa112.jpgChristina Mandara is a USA TODAY bestselling author and tends to write dark romance with lashings of kinky naughtiness. Her favourite pastime is travelling, and if it involves sun, sea and… sand then it’s all good.

In her spare time she’s usually cuddled up with a good book, exploring the countryside or baking in the kitchen. In fact, she loves her kitchen so much she’s one of few woman who wouldn’t mind being tied to it! Her first and foremost love is writing, however, and more often than not you’ll find her on a laptop spinning tales of romance, erotica or dark, paranormal fantasies.

She’s a big fan of BDSM in all of its glorious forms, and her favourite item in the toy closet (a box simply isn’t big enough) is her riding crop.

FB: https://www.facebook.com/CPMandara

Twitter: https://twitter.com/cpmandara

Blog: http://christinamandara.wordpress.com/

GoodReads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7113521.C_P_Mandara

Amazon Author Page: http://author.to/CPMandara

 

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Be My Guest On Tuesday: Corbin A. Grace, A Ticket To Ride and Schrodinger’s Cat

tuesdayHello and welcome my first February guest on Tuesday. Corbin A. Grace is a man of many talents that you’d get to know during this blog post. Apart from having discovered the formula of the perfect blurb, he can also transform copper, silver, and titanium into jewelry and poetry into prose. Today he is here to share more about the inspiration behind his story, Schrodinger’s Cat and his upcoming anthology.

From Poem to Prose: The Origins of a Story

by Corbin A. Grace

coverWriters are often asked where they get their ideas. In the case of my latest story, “Schrödinger’s Cat,” the answer is that the story is based on a poem I had written. The erotic f/f story will be soon be published as part of the anthology Ticket to Ride: Erotic Tales of Sexual Encounters with a release date of February 16, 2017. It’s available for pre-order now. The story takes place on an airplane as things heat up between two perfect strangers, a female scientist and a younger, fidgety woman.

Some elements from my original poem remain in the story: a less-than-gallant boyfriend; an attractive, agitated woman in the middle seat. The narrator in my story is a woman however, whereas the poem’s speaker is male.

The focus of the story is eroticism. The poem is intended to be funny, with a play on the titular reference:

In the Upright Position by Corbin A. Grace

I sit stiffly at thirty-seven thousand feet

On the aisle, my shoulders scrunched,

Making space for the spritely ginger miss

With the dreaded middle seat.

Her steadfast beau, the flight crew has assured

He, if the plane goes down,

Can coolly pop the exit door.

Firmly does he fix, with ardent lover’s gaze,

A tiny HD screen from which his eyes stray not.

Peripherally I view a quirkier display:

This lass of twenty years, perhaps from flight’s frayed nerves

(Or drink that gave her wings) frenetically does fly

A jet stream all her own, with choppy inner air

Turbulent she seems.

Her motion soon beguiles, my tension melts away.

She runs her flitting hands along the seatback’s cloth.

With absent light caress, strokes lovely stockinged thighs.

This kinetic reddish fox, this tactile temptress,

With her restless back and forth

Begins to softly rub against my arm and leg

And I sit, stiff, in thirty-seven C.

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Here’s an excerpt from the story “Schrodinger’s Cat” by Corbin A. Grace

The woman’s soft loose hair brushes against my shoulder. The tips briefly caress my cheek as she leans into me, having reached the apsis of her irregular orbit. I catch a lovely fresh scent, not flowery but feminine.

Should I ask her if she’s afraid to fly? My curiosity is not as strong as the need to continue feeling her light touches. I’m hyperaware. Every small contact sends a shiver through me. My nipples have tightened. I’m afraid that moving will somehow break her odd energy, ending a perfect, inexplicable prolonged series of moments. How can such casual contact seem so erotic, accidental touching so intimate?

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Around us, each person exists in a discrete world: sleeping, watching TV, reading or tapping at their electronic devices. Ada and I, we’ve formed a unit. She’s an electron to my nucleus; her erratic movements a spread of possible moment around my stable center. Stability is not the right term though; the flame-haired beauty could easily and unwittingly initiate a fusion reaction in my core.

The young woman—really, I can’t go on calling her Ada—turns to face me. Her hazel eyes, looking into mine, are pleading but I don’t know the significance of their intensity. She has lovely gold flecks in her irises; honey-colored little flares that radiate outward from the striking green that surrounds her pupils. I look deep into their complexity. My mind—conditioned to thinking in terms of melanin distribution, pigment and wavelength—instead conjures descriptors more in line with romantic poetry and classical art.”

So, in the end, it may make you wonder: if the story is based on the poem, where did I get the idea for the poem. Sorry to be a tease, but a writer has to maintain a certain mystique. I’ll just let your imaginations fly away as you think about it.

– Corbinunnamed-1

 

Pre-Order Ticket To Ride On Amazon

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Delve into the minds of nine authors and let them take you for the ride of your life into the world of sex on public transport. Whether it’s trains, planes, cars, buses, trams or ferries, a combination of confined interiors and restricted spaces leads to erotic contact and hot and steamy sex.

Entice yourself with stories of:

Trains: The constant rhythm and clatter of wheels on rails, the side-to-side motion and a sense of entrapment between stations adds a touch of spice to a new encounter; and stealing pleasure on a crowded platform just heightens the excitement. Or travel back to the splendour of the steam age to follow a detective and the thief she’s set out to capture.

Planes: The confined space of the seats necessitates unconventional solutions to comforting a fidgeting woman, particularly when things aren’t quite as they seem.

Buses: A crowded tour bus and the woman who sits between two very different groups of musicians leads to a very different experience on the ‘dividing line’. Meanwhile, eavesdropping on someone else’s erotic stories via Bluetooth during a daily ride share leads to more than just words.

Whatever your fantasy, these erotic short stories will leave you eager to plan your next journey!

Pre-Order Ticket To Ride On Amazon

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

corbin

FOLLOW CORBIN A. GRACE

Email: corbin.a.grace@gmail.com

Website: https://www.corbinagrace.com/

Blog: https://corbinagrace.com/blog/

Facebook: http://facebook.com/Corbin.A.Grace

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/16104392.Corbin_A_Grace

Twitter: https://twitter.com/corbinagrace

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Be My Guest On Tuesday: Mystk Knight and The Bequest (Rigger Book 2)

tuesdayAnother Tuesday came along and I have one fantastic lady and BDSM writer as a guest. Mystk Knight’s books of the world of Dominance, submission, rope bondage and other lovely things are pretty short. However, they are hot and well-written enough to make you boil with need and lust. Just a week ago she released Part 2 of her Rigger trilogy so I invite you to take a look.

The Bequest (Rigger Book 2)

by Mystk Knight

 

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Blurb: Book Two of the Rigger trilogy continues the tale of Lachlan, Shibari master and dom, and Shae, the young female slave who captured his imagination and ensnared his heart.  They meet again, this time over dinner, followed by a serving of decadent dessert.  Can Shae control herself?  Or will Lachlan have to dish out a further serving of corrective training?  And what of Shae’s mysterious master. Read this mesmerizing tale of love, lust and lusciousness to find out.

Excerpts

“Well, fuck me.” I stood there on the sidewalk, watching the cab disappear around the corner at the end of the street with my arms crossed at my chest and my pulse beating a crazy tattoo in my throat.

How the hell had this one woman managed to affect me so viscerally? She had walked into my home, invaded my heart, and now with her leaving, I realized she had taken a huge piece of it with her. Even as I watched the cab’s tail lights disappear out of sight, I acknowledged in my heart she was my destiny. I would do whatever was necessary to make it a reality.

At my age, I had all but given up on finding ‘the one’, but I guess the old saying is true: “It’ll happen when you least expect it.” The only question now was how to make it a reality.

I turned and retraced my steps through the gate, slamming it behind me. My long legs ate up the stairs, taking them four at a time before I let myself back into the house. Sliding to a stop in the foyer, those first few moments from the day before when I had opened the door to find Shae standing on my threshold flashed through my mind. I savoured the memory of the way her eyes had grown wide and filled with surprise as they had met mine. It might have been in that very instant that I knew.

Shaking off the memory, I strode with purpose down the hall to my office. I navigated the banker’s desk standing resolute in front of the bay window and sat down in the ancient and worn leather chair I had inherited from my parents’ estate. Leaning back into the comfort of its memories, I turned the issue over in my mind, my thumb running back and forth over my lower lip as it always did when I worked through a problem.

My Neanderthal brain was howling at me to get myself over to Jon’s house and refuse to leave without Shae’s contract, and her, in hand. But my Hominidae logical self knew that tactic would get me nowhere with Jon. I had known the man some thirty years at this point and had come to appreciate he did things on his own time and for his own reasons.

So what was his purpose in sending Shae to me for correction? She had performed beautifully. In fact, I found nothing in her presentation to give proof to his complaints.

The man was an enigma to me. A close personal friend of my parents for as long as I could remember, he had become my guardian when at fourteen years of age my parents died in a horrific motor vehicle accident while travelling abroad. Jon had managed my inheritance until I reached the age of majority at twenty-one. During that period, he had split my time between attending schools abroad and living under his roof where I had learned and adopted his lifestyle. Despite all that, I had never fully understood the reasoning behind many of his decisions. I had, however, learned to accept them unquestioningly.

I had left his home at twenty-one, my inheritance safely invested in the money market, and I remember thinking I had the world by the tail. In retrospect, I suppose I had. I had dedicated the next several years to growing my inheritance, perfecting my craft, and making a life for myself—one that included occasional visits to Jon’s home but usually only when summoned.

He was not an easy man to live with, his propensity for sudden and unreasonable outbursts of anger always a looming threat over the members of his household. I could count neither the number of times I had heard his slaves paying the price for some perceived transgression nor the number of times Jon had called upon me to deliver those punishments. I had learned how to wield a dragon tail whip by the time I turned fifteen and dual blacksnake whips by seventeen, both harsh and deterring tools of correction. Once I left Jon’s home, my interests had turned to suspension play; in particular, Shibari. I spent many years learning those arts from masters around the world and preferred using them in my own life over harsher forms of BDSM play.

Perhaps Jon felt I was too soft in my management of the various subs I brought into my life and sought a way to impose his will on my choices. Shae was not the first of his slaves sent my way, but she certainly was the first who did not present with any overt behavioural issues requiring correction.

And therein lay my dilemma. Why had Jon done it? Time would tell as he always revealed the reasons for his actions—particularly where my “life lessons” were concerned.

Was that what this had been? Another of his life lessons?

Jon took a somewhat perverse, if not sadistic, approach to ensuring I understood my own fascination with the BDSM lifestyle, pushing me through tests of domination that only the most hardhearted of doms I came across in my life could have imagined. I turned my thoughts away from those memories. I had decided years before to use them only to remind myself of the kind of dom I did not wish to become.

No, I needed to come up with a plan to convince Jon to sign over Shae’s contract to me and make him think it was his own idea. But how? I had no idea yet, but I would figure it out come hell or high water. There was no way I intended to leave Shae under his control when I knew the punishments she would face if she ever did anything to truly upset him. That was not an option.

The sound of an incoming email roused me from my dark thoughts, and I opened my laptop to confirm the sender even though I knew without looking. Jon. He would be looking for a final status report on Shae’s visit. I had emailed him sometime around midnight the night before to confirm Shae’s arrival and let him know she had been an excellent suspension subject, submitting without question or complaint. He had not responded to me then, but opening his email, it surprised me to see him commending her presentation and compliance, praising her as he had never done with any other slave.

The last sentence of his email contained the ultimate reason for the missive—one I knew better than to ignore. “Dinner. Sunday evening at seven.”

Buy On Amazon

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The berries were fresh. The cream, fresher. The dark chocolate was the perfect counterbalance to the sweetness of the berries but under it all was the salty-sweet flavour of Shae. She was writhing and moaning with need by the time I took my place at the end of the table and sat looking over the landscape of her delectable body. I slid my hands under her knees and pulled her toward me, placing her legs over my shoulders. I slipped my hands under her buttocks and lifted her pussy to my mouth, locking my eyes to hers. “Do not come, pet, until I allow it. If you fail, I’ll punish you.”

Shae’s eyes widened as she watched me move slowly toward her heated and needy centre, my full intentions becoming clear. An involuntary gasp of air escaped her lips when I licked her creamy slit from back to font. She bucked up, pressing her pussy into my mouth, unable to control her body’s automatic response. I slid one arm around her hip, settling my hand on her abdomen to hold her steady, and set to work on breaking her control.

The torture started with light licks and puffs of cool air on her pussy. I progressed slowly to sucking and nibbling her clit, worrying it with unrelenting attention. Shae’s moans grew over time to pleading as I clamped my teeth firmly around her swollen bud and heated it with the constant friction of my tongue. Her legs began to tremble. I knew she was close to her climax, so I pulled my mouth from her pulsing flesh and kissed the inside of her thighs, first one then the other. Shae squeezed her knees to the sides of my head, her hands finding purchase in my hair. If she had her way, I would go nowhere until I satisfied her, and I could not allow her that control.

“Grip the sides of the table, pet, and do not let go.” I growled my command, letting her know she was pushing her boundaries. She reluctantly loosened her grasp on my hair, my scalp stinging as the blood rushed to the assaulted area. Shae’s breath sawed in and out of her chest, and her words tumbled over one another as she begged for a reprieve.

“Please, sir, please! Let me rest or please let me come! I’m losing my mind! I need… I need to come please, sir, please!”

I grinned. She had played right into my hands. “Shae, Jon’s outfitted his dungeon with a spanking bench. It has your name on it if you so much as twitch in the next five minutes. I suggest you get a grip on your control. Now.”

“You’re being completely unreasonable, sir! You’ve been torturing and teasing me for the past hour without a break! Your demands are impossible, and you well know it!”

Her outburst sparked a flame of irritation in me the likes of which I had not felt in quite some time.

“Would you care to rephrase that, Shae?”

I pinned her with a harsh look of derision though I knew she was right. My demands were unreasonable, but I wanted her to fail to meet them in the most spectacular way possible.

When no response was immediately forthcoming, I stood, gripped Shae around her waist, and tossed her over my shoulder. Navigating the table, I strode out of the dining room and made my way to the top of the stairs leading to Jon’s dungeon.

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If these smoking hot excerpts set your imagination and body on fire maybe you should start with book 1 of Mystk’s trilogy.
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Blurb:
Book One of the Rigger trilogy tells the tale of a young female slave sent by her master to a Shibari Master for corrective training. What follows is an intense 24 hour period of having her limits, and her resolve, thoroughly tested.

Buy On Amazon

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Mystk Knight lives on an island in beautiful British Columbia.  She shares her home with her fur-baby, who often looks at her as though she is perhaps a little insane as she chats her way through scenes or crawls around on the floor testing the positions she writes her characters into.  She dabbles in erotic romance and erotica and, no, her stories do not reflect her real life experiences, nor would she admit it if they did.  Her favorite hobby is procrastination; she will get to the final book in this trilogy when she is damn good and ready.

FOLLOW MYSTK KNIGHT

Amazon:  https://amazon.com/author/mystkknight

Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15846381.Mystk_Knight

Facebook: https://t.co/iPzfwpSYkn

Twitter:  https://twitter.com/MystkFish

Instagram:  https://instagram.com/mystkknight

Website:  http://mystkknight.weebly.com/

 

Be My Guest On Tuesday: Pandora Spocks Presents Lost and Bound

tuesdayIt’s Tuesday so it’s time for another guest spotlight. A few months ago the lovely Pandora Spocks who was kind enough to attend my  Author Spotlight and interview. She said she was working on a new novel with a light BDSM theme similar to her first book, Luke and Bella. Lost and Bound, the story of a spoiled Hollywood starlet and a dominant mountain man, is already finished and is to be released on January 31st. You can pre-order it today on Amazon, Apple, Nook, Kobo and 24 symbols.

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BLURB

Blake Walker is no stranger to tragedy.  Immediately following a horrific event years earlier, he was lost for a while until he embraced his Dominant nature and found his true calling.  But things change and now he’s back where he started, helping to run his family’s secluded lake lodge.

When pampered Hollywood starlet Shasta Pyke gets into trouble with the law, she’s sent to the wilderness of northern Ontario to cool her heels for a few weeks.  There she meets sexy bush pilot Blake, who is tasked with seeing to her needs as the sole guest at the lodge.

Initially, Blake isn’t impressed with the spoiled actress, but he’s happy that her visit allows for his sister Jackie and her kids to go on a much-needed vacation.  Try as he might, he can’t figure out what the hell Shasta Pyke is doing so far out of her element. 

Shasta’s attracted to Blake’s obvious good looks, but there’s more to him than that.  He sees through her armor to the vulnerable little girl she hides from the world.  The Daddy Dominant in him craves to shelter her, to make her his own.

Is there any way Shasta will agree to submit to Blake’s Dominance?

Lost & Bound is Book 2 of Pandora Spocks’ Dream Dominant Collection, a series of stand-alone novels featuring sexy, Dominant men, and the strong, red-haired submissives who find them irresistible.  It is a contemporary erotic romance novel with a light BDSM theme, and features a DD/lg relationship, and is intended for mature audiences.

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Continue reading “Be My Guest On Tuesday: Pandora Spocks Presents Lost and Bound”

Be My Guest On Tuesday: Samantha MacLeod and The Trickster Lover for only .99cents

tuesdayHello, readers, authors, and fans! I hope you have had good holidays and that you look forward to meeting the three authors I have prepared for you on Tuesday. In case you have missed the guests from my previous Tuesdays now it is the right time to catch up. Meet young and promising erotica author L.M. Mountford, the humorous erotica of Lorraine Carey and Becky Robbins, as well as the thrilling BDSM poetry and short stories of HL37. My first guest this week is Samantha Macleod, another erotica author strongly inspired by the Norse mythology and history. Unlike Felicity Brandon and her Viking’s Conquest Samantha’s novel is a contemporary and paranormal adventure. Only this week you can get it for the discount price of .99 cents so don’t miss it.banner

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Blurb:

Graduate student Caroline Capello has always been more comfortable with books than people. She’s just moved to the University of Chicago to become the world’s foremost authority on Norse mythology, making her the only member of her family to leave San Diego, and the family business.

But she’s wondering if she’s just made the biggest mistake of her life.

When Loki, the enigmatic and irresistibly sexy Norse trickster god, appears in her studio apartment, Caroline is forced to question everything she’s learned.

Do the gods exist? Are the legends about Ragnarök, the apocalyptic battle that destroys the gods and ends the Nine Realms, actually true?

Or is she losing her mind?

Continue reading “Be My Guest On Tuesday: Samantha MacLeod and The Trickster Lover for only .99cents”

Be My Guest On Tuesday: HL37 and BDSM Poetry As Tender As A Whip

tuesdayTuesday is slowly coming to its end and it’s time to introduce you to my evening guest, the first poet I’ve ever showcased on my website. 

Before you meet R.A. Smith, known also as HL37, you can check out my other Tuesday guests, if you missed their appearance. L.M.Mountford shared his shameless erotica with us in here. Lorraine Carey and Becky Robbins extended their invitations to Camp Cougar in here.

HL37’s words affect the mind like the most tender caress of a feather and the cruelest lash of a well-crafted whip. Let him take you away in a world where the delicate and sweet emotion is blurred with the violence and intensity. His work speaks enough for itself so live it.

Make Me Take It from You: erotic poetry and short stories

by

HL37

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“Make Me Take It from You” is a collection of poetry and short stories that delve into to the physical and mental reality of the BDSM lifestyle .

Ranging from tender expressions of an emotional connection between two minds to sometimes seemingly brutal physical exchanges, these writings provide a vehicle to engage the reader and draw them into a world of complexities that they may have a longing to experience.

“poetry and prose” is a collection of stand alone pieces that will often leave the reader breathless and pondering. Included here is the title piece, “Make Me Take It from You.”

“themed writing” are just that. “twenty days of pillow notes” depict a darker side as love letters left each day for twenty consecutive days. The “tandem series” is the product of two minds exchanging lines and then responding with the next creating a unique flow of thought.

“short stories” take the reader on slightly longer trips into erotic and dark places that some can only imagine. And others will want to experience…

PIECES

reprieve

I need you to beat me

a simple message that required no further explanation

an understanding

reached without ever negotiating

words or conditions

like a child laying a strap in the hands of the headmaster

implied admission of transgressions

discipline

not punishment

a reprieve

not a pardoning

more a stay of execution

his loving brutality

dispensed

tears

act as witness

release

not escape

temporary relief

from her burdens

shackles loosened

and tightened

simultaneously

party dress

stand there in that cute little party dress

fidgeting and staring at your Mary Jane’s

hands clasped behind your back

that crooked grin almost protection

soon

your lips will be a bright red smudge across your mouth and cheeks

your mascara will run down your face like tiny black lightning bolts

your hair will be knotted and ruffled

your pretty dress will be torn and tossed on the floor

soon

you will look up at me with those tear filled eyes

and wordlessly scream…

take me, break me.

morning sex

when she ran her tongue across his lips

his mustache tasted of coffee and smoke

and the honey freshly harvested from between her thighs

fingers rested

over her pounding heart

soft now

unlike the fire that they burned with before

so she mused

on how this began

how he had called her by her secret name

a name that made her feel both vulnerable and understood

she traced that name

into the sweat on his ink stained shoulder

newly broken nail dragging on his skin

he smiled

the drying blood on his back creaking

as he drew her close

moving her to let loose a happy sigh

after all

morning was long from over

The Words

Your mouth holds many wonders, spilling forth to please and provoke me, greedy girl who gets her way when I get mine.

And oh, such delicious aural enticement, you willingly offer to me, knowing that my cock gets a very special kind of hard, when you look over your shoulder and whisper the words,

“Please, fuck my ass”…

The Mark

Somewhere on your skin, there will always be a skillfully placed note, from me to you, almost undetectable to anyone else. A fingerprint, my signature on our contract, and you will smile softly, when you see the mark,

the reminder that you belong with me, and to me.

The Struggle

Pinned against the wall, by the hair I hold in one hand, and the wrist I hold in the other, you punch and slap, as if a black eye, or a sting on my cheek, will in any way, change the outcome, of what I have planned. You will always, lose the struggle, that you invited, with your need,

yet you always win.

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He looked at her,

not thru her like everyone else in her life did.

He looked at her and saw who she truly was.

Her vulnerability falling away,

like a veil of invisibility she had worn through eternity.

Safe for the first time in a very long time.

She could, at last, breathe.

Release.

Exhale.

Inhale his scent, his touch, his words, his truth.

He also needed these,

things that he had never known or had forgotten.

She looked at him and saw who he truly was.

A man.

Her man.

And she, His.

No kitten, leave them on…

She came through the door like a blonde tornado…

Some days it was all she could do to hold herself together past the threshold, and she already had one pump in her hand when she looked up and saw him there. He had that serene look, the one that just said let me take away the troubles of your day.

It made her melt…

He could be so gentle,

it was his way most of the time,

until he wasn’t,

and she needed that too.

He knelt down with one hand on her hip to steady her and removed the other pump. Shoes dangling from his fingers he took her by the hand and led her into the bedroom. He motioned her to sit on the end of the bed while he went and started a bath.

She was reaching up to pull the pins from her hair when his hand stopped her with a grip of her wrist. He placed his hands on her shoulders pulling her up against him. He smelled so sweet, sweat and cologne, her face nuzzling deep into his shoulder. He reached around and unzipped her tight black skirt, letting it drop to the floor with no ceremony. Then nimble fingers worked loose every one of the tiny buttons on her blouse. Another unceremonious plop on the floor.

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Sliding the tips of his fingers under the straps of her bra, oh she let out a sigh now. Hands one at a time caressing her shoulders as he worked the lace off her ample breasts. God how she loved when he did that, made her feel dirty and adored at the same time. Cupping her breasts in his hands like he was testing them for balance and road wear. Thumbs pushing her nipples to the side with a firm yet tender stroke. She sighed and trembled, butter in his hands.

When his hands finally slid down her hips to catch on the edges of her panties, he looked up and held her dark eyes for the longest time in his gaze. Her day did slip away in the blue ocean that reflected back at her.

And then she was naked.

Exposed.

Standing before him with nothing left but her dark rimmed glasses.

She moved to take them off, and he took hold of her wrist before she could complete the thought.

No kitten, leave them on”

He moved to the bathroom to shut off the hot bubbly water that had now filled the tub. Returning she found him also naked.

Yet he was never exposed.

Placing his hands on her shoulders, a signal to lower herself to her knees. She complied and took his hard cock into her hands ready to swallow it as if it would give her the air she needed to breathe easy. This is how she let the cares of the day go.

One of her ways…

Being his cock whore.

Took away her grace.

And gave it back.

Sustaining her.

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HL37

HL37 writes erotic poetry and short stories that capture the BDSM lifestyle as seen through his eyes. When he is not pushing words around with a pen, he can be found making whips, riding his motorcycle affectionately known as “the big red bitch” and planning his next tattoo.

I have been writing erotic poetry and short stories for over 10 years and recently published the first of several collections of my work thus far.

I am active in the BDSM lifestyle and much of what I write is from my own experiences.

Make Me Take It from You” covers a large time frame of my writing about what I find appealing, which is the balance of mental and physical play. BDSM is more than just hitting or punishment for me, it is about communication of needs, listening to the person I am with in that moment, and pushing them to grow and experience things they never imagined they were capable of.

I recently started making nylon whips and am launching my website soon. I have always been good with my hands and passionate about my endeavors so this has become quite a rewarding career addition.

LINKS

Make Me Take It From You:  https://www.amazon.com/Make-Me-Take-You-stories-ebook/dp/B01KWAJM7E/

Facebook HL37: https://www.facebook.com/HL37writes/

Website: https://hl37writes.com/

E-mail: HL37writes@gmail.com

Twitter: @HL37writes1

Pinterest: pinterest.com/hl37writes/

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Be My Guest On Tuesday: L.M. Mountford has some Confessions and Sweet Temptations For You

tuesdayWelcome to the Second Edition of Tuesday Guest Spotlight. Last week I presented three lovely ladies to your attention whose posts you can revisit now, Felicity Brandon, Lisette Kristensen, and Bree M. LewandowskiToday, if you follow my posts you’d get to meet a male erotica author, two ladies and their tawdry Cougar Camp, as well as a man who’d introduce you to the poetry of BDSM.

Now, Meet L.M.Mountford, known under the FanFiction.net penname Dark Inferno. His work is not for the faint of heart and those easily offended by harsh language and graphic sex. Still, if you are excited by the idea of menage, dubious content, filthy sex and shameless seduction Mr. Mountford might be just the author you were looking for. Have a taste of his two works, currently available on Amazon and other retailers, Confessions and Sweet Temptations

CONFESSIONS

by

L.M. Mountford

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Blurb: 

When Mina returns for her stepbrother’s 21st birthday, she thinks her days of lusting after him are over. Caught up in the heat and passion of the moment, she is stunned to find them back in bed together; their feelings clearly far from resolved. Haunted by her desire, and her growing appetite for , Mina now has another problem… she must head down a path of lust and desire; torn between the dark delights of the handsome bad boy down the street and her adorable stepbrother who has always been there for her. Can she confront the truth she has long tried to bury? How far will she go to save the one she wants, but knows she can never truly have?

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Sweet Temptations: The Babysitter (Special Extended Edition)

by

L.M. Mountford

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Blurb: 

Meet Richard Martin. Tall, dark and handsome; he’s well mannered, married to his beautiful university sweetheart, works in a job he can’t stand with people who infuriate him, and so sexually frustrated he’s about ready to blow like Mount Vesuvius…
Enter Rebecca, Scarlet and Samantha, three sirens sent by god to plague and tempt him. Will he be able to do what’s right and resist their advances, or will these temptresses lure him to the rocks?
In this first volume in Dark Inferno’s sizzling new series: Sweet Temptations, A naughty babysitter sets out to seduce her man. No matter what his wife might think, sweet and innocent, but also seductive and sexy, this tempting siren will rock your world while babysitting your kids and she is determined to lure her man into her bed…
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L.M.Mountford

avatarI’m L.M. Mountford.

I’m an erotica author, but please don’t judge me by that alone. I’m also trying to break into dark romance, historical action, and sci-fi/ fantasy. Honestly, though, I’m interested in anything plot that involves sex and violence. They make up some of the greatest stories in my opinion. A story is like any portrait, it needs to be made up of many colours, but make sure it has these two and you’re bound to be a susses.

When I was in school, I wanted to be an actor. I gave that up after a Final ‘E’ grade in GCSE Drama. That was a knock as everyone told me I was great. Before that and now, my dream is to be a successful author. I may be an author but I doubt I’ll ever be successful, so I largely write for the love and challenge of it.
I wrote my first story when I was 14/15. A fanfiction story that I posted online. I’m something of a anime aficionado you see, and like any little boy, my mind had a tendency to wander. After that it wasn’t long before I moved into the erotica genre, after all, what is it a boy that age thinks about, and I have been in the genre ever since.

Although I’d never really thought about self-publishing, it occurred to me when I was 21 after running across the kindle section of Amazon and seeing how many short stories had been published and were selling. It was something of an eye-opener. Until then, I’d thought KDP was for novels. Shortly after, I wrote and published Sweet Temptations: The Babysitter. I’d thought that would be the hard part, but after publishing, I came to realise it was only the beginning. Not only that, but I was woefully unprepared.

Would love to get to know you all, here are my social network and blog links, feel free to drop by and say hi.
 
 
 

 

I hope you’d enjoy spending time with L.M.Mountford and you’d stay tuned for the afternoon episode when you’d meet R.A. Robbins and L.A.Carey and their Erotica with a Southern Twist.

Be My Guest On Tuesday: Felicity Brandon and The Viking’s Conquest

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Hello, and welcome to the new column on my website, the Be My Guest Spotlight. If you missed last week’s episode, check out R.B. O’Brien’s Imogen boxed set  and its sale.

Today I’ll meet you with three charming and talented writers who agreed to share their latest work and special promotions. You’ll get to meet them at different times of the day so you’d handle their awesomeness in equal parts.

The morning guest I have the pleasure to introduce to you is Felicity Brandon, writer of the salacious, erotic and romantic BDSM, as well as a Golden Flogger finalist  (you can also read her interview and spotlight in here.)

She is here to present to you her new historical erotic novel, The Viking’s Conquest.

THE VIKING’S CONQUEST

by

Felicity Brandon

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Blurb:

When she is left all but alone to defend her family’s castle against an army of battle-hardened Viking raiders, nineteen-year-old Princess Aurelie of Donrose fights valiantly but is soon overcome. After her capture by the tall, handsome leader of the northmen, Prince Anders, she is carried away along with the rest of the spoils of conquest.

Anders makes it clear to the princess that she is now his property, to do with as he likes, and he takes pleasure in stripping her bare and putting her on display. When she defies her new master, Aurelie quickly discovers that Anders will not hesitate to spank her soundly, but to her shame the painful, humiliating punishment leaves her deeply aroused.

Bound and helpless yet burning with desire, the princess finds herself longing for the bold, dominant warrior to take her hard and thoroughly, and when she surrenders to his mastery of her body the pleasure is more intense than she would have ever thought possible. Aurelie’s submission to Anders grows more complete with each passing day, but when her brothers arrive with an army to seek vengeance against their old enemy she must make a fateful choice. Will she remain loyal to her family and her people, or come to the aid of her Viking prince?

EXCERPTS

Excerpt 1

… in which we see Aurelie and Anders’ chemistry

He pauses his analysis of my chest and looks up into my eyes. His stare holds me there for a long moment and I realise I am succumbing to his will whether I like it or not. He is the predator—he has been all along—and I am his prey. Aurelie of Donrose, it seems, was no match for this invader from the northlands.

“Unexpected?” he repeats.

He rises with care to a standing position, grasping the post to his left for support. His tall frame is now right next to me, his head skimming the silken canopy over us. He leans toward me and presses himself against my nakedness. I gasp, closing my eyes at the contact and yet relishing the physical closeness.

“Does that mean my captive is warming to her new master?”

I open my eyes to find his face right there, above me, that large mouth ready to devour its prey. “I… I don’t know,” I whisper, looking into his eyes. There’s an honesty about my answer that disconcerts me.

Anders shifts his weight slightly, snaking his right hand around my body and skimming my behind. Once there he grabs my left cheek and holds me, using my own body to pull me closer to him. My throbbing wet centre, already pushed forward by the bondage holding my ankles in place, nestles against his clothed right thigh.

“You are not sure, Aurelie, or you are just too afraid to say?”

I blush at his accurate analysis of the situation, dropping my eyes from his gaze. His hand rises north, leaving my ass and taking me by surprise. Anders uses each long digit to trace lines up the left side of my body, pausing at the curve of my bosom, and then finally reaching the side of my face. Once here, the hand tips my chin upward to meet his eye line, holding it in place once he is satisfied with the position.

He eyes me intently and I realise that he is expecting an answer.

“Too afraid…”

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Excerpt 2

… in which Aurelie gets spanked

“Drop the fruit. I want to hear your voice whilst you’re spanked.”

In a moment of uncharacteristic obedience, I widen my mouth a fraction and release the soft flesh of the fruit. I watch as it falls the short distance to the floor underneath me, along with a humiliating quantity of my drool. Relief washes over my jaw as it can now finally relax, although I wonder what Anders will have in mind for me next.

“Good,” he says from over me. “Now tell me, do you know why you are to be spanked?”

I flinch as he vocalises my predicament, as though hearing it out loud somehow reaffirms the sheer ignominy of it.

“I…” I pause, trying to make myself say the words. “I am to be spanked because I spilled your drinks, my Lofðungr,” I say eventually.

“True,” Anders replies, slapping the cheeks of my behind. The impact is not hard, but is just enough to wake the flesh around the area, summoning the blood there and sending the message to me: this is mine. “And why did you spill the drinks, Aurelie? What function were you serving?”

I cringe inwardly, knowing he intends to revel fully in my disgrace. “I was your table,” I say in the smallest voice possible.

“My what?” he asks, raising his voice. “I have never known the lady be so coy before this moment!”

“Your table, my Lofðungr,” I reply, pushing back the humiliated emotion that threatens to surface.

“Yes!” he cries, finally satisfied with my answer. “A table for holding my refreshments. You had one purpose only: to hold the tray of drinks and Aurelie, you failed, my sweeting. You failed in the most spectacular fashion!”

The old indignation rises in me. “I am no table!” I spit, my voice now full of venom.

He lands a hard smack against my upturned cheeks, the sound swilling around my head before the sting of the impact even registers.

“You are mine!” he says evenly. “Mine to do whatever I please with. The sooner you come to learn this, the easier your new life will be, my lady.”

He smacks me again; not full-throttle this time, but I know he means it. I take a sharp intake of breath at the impact, willing the pain to be done so that I may experience a little of that odd arousal the previous spanking had produced. A further three smacks ensue. The loud sound of his palm connecting with my flesh echoes through the confines of his quarters. I lie here over his knee, forced to accept this new dynamic: Anders, the foreign invader, now apparently the master of me. A man who can chain me up, and use me as furniture at his will.

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I push against the pain as he spanks me again. The sheer force of my own obstinate pride somehow makes the process easier, although there’s no denying it does hurt. My behind feels red and inflamed already and I have no idea how long Anders intends to keep me here.

“Are you beginning to understand?” His voice booms from someplace over my head. It sounds oddly distant to my ears.

“Yes, my Lofðungr,” I say through gritted teeth as yet another smack lands across both cheeks, but even as I speak I know I do not mean it.

“Tell me then. Let me hear your learning, Aurelie. What are you?”

He pauses the spanking, perhaps to allow me to speak and I take a deep breath. Can I really say these things just to appease him? I consider my position: naked, chained, and over his lap. What choice do I have?

“I am yours, my Lofðungr,” I say, trying to detach myself from the words.

“My what?” he says, stroking the hot area he has punished.

I bite hard on my lip again, despising him for reducing me to this. “Your property!” I spit the last word out as though it threatens to choke me if I keep it inside.

“Hmm,” says Anders and I swear I can hear him smiling. “Better—but I do not believe that you mean it. Not yet anyway…”

He draws my body back a few inches from the hips, so that my aching core rises from his hard body and I am effectively bent over him from the waist.

“Spread your legs,” he says softly.

With extreme reluctance I move myself into this new, even more humiliating pose. My breasts, previously crushed under my weight, are now freed and swing softly beneath me. My face is also now less concealed and I unwittingly catch his smiling gaze in my peripheral vision. I look away at once, but not before he has noticed my error. Leaning forward, he wraps my unruly hair toward my right shoulder, exposing my face, now burning with the shame and excitement I am feeling.

“Look at me,” he commands sensually.

Slowly I turn my head ever so slightly to the left and look unwillingly into those smirking blue eyes.

“I have a feeling about you, Aurelie. Shall I share it with you?” he asks casually.

I stare at him, unwilling to answer and play his game. I can feel the old defiance rising to the surface for just the briefest moment. When I say nothing, he spanks my behind again. It feels harder from this position somehow. The sound is different and the sting feels crueller. My previously fleshy bottom is now stretched into a new stance and unbelievably I think I miss the reassurance of his body heat. I am even more exposed this way.

“Answer me!” he snaps, his hand connecting with my skin again.

“Please share it, my Lofðungr,” I reply, my voice breaking ever so slightly as the fresh pain registers.

There is a pause and I fear that he will choose to just continue spanking me like this, and then finally, he speaks again:

“I have a feeling that you actually like being treated this way, my lady.”

I look at him, my eyes no doubt sharing the indignation, resentment, and disbelief I am feeling as I register his words. How in Donrose can he know this about me? These are feelings that I myself had never known until this day!

“You’re wrong,” I splutter, but we both know I don’t mean it.

“Really?” he asks, spanking me again. I squeeze my eyes shut at the new impact, before opening them again. Anders has moved in even closer to my body in the interim. I notice for this first time that he too appears to be a little out of breath, and I wonder if this is exciting him as well. “So you don’t want me to touch your body then, Aurelie?”

His hand moves to within an inch of my left breast as he speaks. Sensing his approach, my already hard buds contract even further, betraying my need.

“No,” I say, continuing the reassuring pretense that I do in fact not want him anywhere near me.

Ignoring me, his hand finally reaches my breast, cupping it gently at first, before moving his fingers south to the nipple. I gasp as he circles it and then grabs the end, tugging at it hard. Despite my veil of disgust, his touch feels astonishingly good, goading my body. My head falls forward, no longer able to contain the desire I feel. Wordlessly he moves closer, reaching for the right breast and repeating his treatment of the left. Both nipples tighten in excitement, silently begging him for more.

A soft moan leaves my lips before I can contain myself. He laughs at the sound and I mean to chastise myself, but already my whole entity is fixed on where his hands will explore next. The left hand that had so ruthlessly, yet beautifully, tormented my breasts, runs a line down my midriff, over my tense belly to the hot, damp patch of hair between my thighs. I take short, shallow breaths, my hands planted firmly on the wooden chest beneath us, as my mind races at the sensations he creates. Anticipation about what he will choose to do next courses through me. I gasp aloud, wondering how I can possibly permit these actions to continue. At the same time his other hand spanks me hard again, sending my body into a trembling mess. The reverberations travel through my growing wetness, to where his left hand waits. Slowly he presses his palm against my skin, pushing through the soft hair, into the moist folds trembling below.

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FELICITY BRANDON

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Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Felicity-Brandon/e/B00CV873JK/
Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/c/felicity-brandon
iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/artist/felicity-brandon/id592299871
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Pinterest: www.pinterest.com/brandonFelicity
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My website: http://fbrandonfiction.wix.com/felicity-brandon-

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Google: https://google.com/+FelicityBrandon

Tumblr:  http://http://felicitybrandonerotica.tumblr.com

Thanks for sharing the deliciously dark and strangely romantic world of Felicity Brandon. Pass by later to see my next guest, Ms. Lisette Kristensen.

Be My Guest on Tuesday: Imogen Boxed Set by R.B. O’Brien

Cheers to my first guest this week, my good friend R.B. O’Brien and her special treat, the boxed set of her dystopian tale of Imogen. It will be only 1,99 USD during December so take advantage.

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Now the Imogen series, Captured, Corrupted, Conflicted, and Claimed can be read all together in one box set. This dark romance series follows the story of Imogen, who is captured and taken prisoner by the enemy on her wedding night as their war spoils.

Imogen is chosen by a high-ranking official, Erik, to serve him in every way. Controlling and compassionate at once, Erik warns her that in order to remain as safe as possible, he must learn her, her body, and instruct her on how to obey him, for her own good.

As her fate begins to overwhelm her, Erik wastes no time in the beginning stages to teach Imogen what she must learn to survive. His warnings of ominous consequences if she does not obey linger unrevealed, and both Imogen and Erik fight to remain in control of themselves and their emotional pull to one another.

Imogen’s confusion grows, her feelings claiming and overwhelming her, feelings of lust and jealousy and anger and maybe even love for Erik. Claimed as his own, Erik tries to protect Imogen, but when another captive is put under his watch, Imogen realizes she doesn’t really know Erik at all. And her defiance could cost her harm or worse–her life.

Buy on Amazon for ONLY 1.99 USD

Excerpts

IMOGEN: Captured (#1)

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“You can call me Sir for now,” he offered. “And I am not going to hurt you.”

That was the second time he told me that he wouldn’t hurt me. Could I trust him? Should I trust him? Why would I trust a man who had taken me prisoner?

When I was untied, he picked me up to carry me, naked and helpless in his strong grip. We went through what appeared to be a large compound. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Women were tied up; some were being whipped, others fucked mercilessly. I closed my eyes as he carried me through the wails and moans. It was a mixture of torment and lust and sex and torture. Tears came uncontrollably again.

He took me outside. Many buildings surrounded the large, center compound. He brought me inside to one of them. It was warm and actually inviting. It was a small home in its own way. He placed me down on a soft, plush couch, exposing me fully. I shivered, even though the room was not at all cold. A fire had been lit.

“I do not want your first time to be painful, Imogen,” he said bluntly. “I want to learn your body.”

Oh my god. He was going to rape me. I was no longer going to be a virgin, and I was going to lose my virginity to this…this barbarian.

“Do I need to tie you down, or will you cooperate?” He spoke in a detached tone, but of course he did. I was his prisoner. He didn’t know me. He certainly didn’t care for me.

I had no idea what to say, how to respond. What choice did I have? He would do what he wanted, but he was asking, and I somehow felt my belly tighten. I was so scared and yet a part of me was aroused. It was so confusing.

“You hesitated again, Imogen.” He grabbed my hand, and we left the warmth of the living area. He brought me into a bedroom, accented with red and cream colors, soothing. How ironic.

He led me further into the bedroom, and then turned me around to face him, the back of my legs against the side of the bed. I stood naked in front of him and looked down, humiliated. I had been fully washed and shaven by god knows who when I was unconscious. I felt tears burning my eyes again.

“You are truly beautiful,” he said, catching me off guard, and I stopped breathing. “Your virginity would not last long here, Imogen. Trust me. It wouldn’t be pretty if some of the other men found out. So I am happy to be your first. You will become my slave here. I can’t very well have a slave without sex. And I can’t very well control my slave if I do not know her body. Lie down,” he ordered, but there was something kind in his voice. It was such a contradiction.

I didn’t move. I wanted to run out of the room. But to where? No one to save me here. And much worse men lurked right outside the building. I shook.

“Now,” he ordered again. This time kindness was no longer present in his voice. “Tonight will be about your pleasure, Imogen. After tonight, it will be about mine.”

IMOGEN: Corrupted (#2)

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When I had drawn my own bath to wash away my guilty loss of virginity, it stung fiercely. But I did not need a reminder of what he had done to me; I did not need the stain to remind me that my body actually liked it.

I sunk into the warm water, tensing as the sting came back. I flinched but sat down deeper into the water, and I could feel the soothing effects of the oils, and somehow I began to relax.

He sat down in front of me, faced away from me, and I couldn’t help by stare at the wide expanse of his back. The muscles bulged with even his slightest movement. He had scars and battle wounds and in that moment I wanted to kiss them all, one by one, and I loathed myself for feeling such desire.

He turned slightly to pass me a cloth and some soap. “Wash me,” he ordered.

I slowly began with his back, his shoulders. I was aroused looking at his chiseled body, and I was thankful that I didn’t have to look into his eyes. When he was pleased with how I had washed his back, he stood, his ass facing me, and I continued to wash him, all the way down to his feet.

Slowly he turned, his erection large, and I tried not to make eye contact with him as I caught a smile spreading slightly across his face. But he sat down to face me, took the cloth back, rinsed it, and added more soap. He laid his back against the back of the tub, hoisted his arms along the sides, drew his head back, and closed his eyes.

I continued to wash his body, trying to contain my admiration for it. God. This man was, quite simply, an exquisite specimen. I was so thankful he kept his eyes shut lest he see my true thoughts.

I washed his neck, his chest, his torso. I went up to his shoulders, his arms, lingering on his huge forearms. The contrast of his tan skin with his light hair on his chest and forearms was striking; deep down inside of me, I fought the waves of desire pulsing through my body and pounding between my legs. When I got to his hands, I shivered and stopped. The blood there was evident, fresh. I cringed in that moment. What had he been doing when I was cooking dinner? I literally shivered at the thought. Had he killed someone? I couldn’t bury the horrid image that forced its way into my mind.

His eyes flew open and his brown, almost black, eyes bore a hole through me. “Imogen, continue.”

“I…Yes, Sir,” I was losing myself to anguish and fear suddenly.

I began to wash his hands, forcefully, trying to remove his blood in the same way I had tried to remove my own. Somehow boldness found me as he closed his eyes and sank back against the tub again. “What happened here?” I asked, my voice barely audible, as I stared at his hands.

“Trust me, Imogen. You don’t want to know. No questions. Mind your place.” I shuddered. He stared at me in such a way that told me to shut up lest my blood be on his hands.

When all the blood was removed, his eyes found mine, amused. “Keep going,” he smiled. He had caught my eyes as they landed on his rock-hard cock, sitting firmly against his tight, toned stomach. I abruptly rinsed the cloth, re-soaped it and went to his thighs, his calves, lingering on his feet, his toes, washing nervously. He didn’t stop me or make me go back up to the one body part I had skipped. I breathed a sigh of relief.

When I was finished, I stopped. “Sir?”

He opened his eyes. “Are you quite done?” That playful look still danced in his eyes.

“Um…yes, I believe I am,” I squeaked. Time stood still as I held my breath to see what he would do.

He laughed loud. “Breathe, Slave. You are fine. Now please dry me off and feed me. I’m starving. You must be too.”

I dried him and he left me there, alone and naked. For some reason I was panting. Was I disappointed? I hated to admit it, but I think I was. I sulked into the kitchen, shivering, still naked. I removed the towel I had used to dry myself off, trying to follow his orders, his previous instructions.

I waited, seated in a chair by a table, as he finally entered the kitchen, fully clothed, relaxed. I sat, timid, a little cold, and fully embarrassed. I tried to position my arms and hands to cover myself the best I could. He sat down, and instinctually, I immediately got up to serve him his food. He smiled up at me as I placed the bowl in front of him and sat down.

He took a bite and moaned. “This is absolutely perfect, Imogen. Thank you. Please help yourself as well.”

I relaxed a bit and rose again to get myself some too.

We ate in silence. I tried to devour my food surreptitiously, but it could have been anything, and I would have inhaled it, I was that hungry. I felt like an animal. I found his gaze, soup dripping down my chin, and I stilled, humiliated at how I was acting, at how I must have looked to him. Why did I even care? He left the room, and I became frightened. Tears poured forth, inconsolable.

To my surprise, he came back with a blanket. “It’s okay,” he assured me. “I’m sorry.” He looked pained watching me. I was so humiliated, and even through my devastating hunger, I lost my appetite. What was I becoming?

I convulsed through my tears, gasping for air, trying to breathe. I was a fucking slave, naked, starving practically, and it all just hit me in a painful, crushing wave.

He stepped around to my chair and picked me up. He sat back down in his chair and held me in his arms for a long time. I struggled to push away from him, and it only made him hold me tighter. I didn’t want this…this…kidnapper, this brute, holding me, and yet I found myself succumbing to his hold, thrusting my face against his chest, letting all my emotions spill over onto him, letting him soothe me. When I calmed, he took my face between his calloused hands and made me look into his eyes. They held a hard-to-fathom emotion.

He spoke in almost a whisper, but it was stern. “Imogen, you will need to toughen up. You need to be stronger. I need to make you stronger. You are going to think that I’m being cruel; I’m trying to save your life. Tonight will be less gentle. Know that it is not to be mean. I am hoping that you even come to like it. But it has to be done. Go stand in the living room and wait for me. Remove the blanket.”

IMOGEN: Conflicted (#3)

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I had no idea what time it was, and the reality of my situation engulfed me. I felt sick to my stomach, felt sick about my predicament. It felt almost surreal. This couldn’t really be happening to me. I couldn’t really be a slave. I drew my arms around my body as tears escaped my eyes without sound, without a chance for me to control it. I felt a sense of dread, of unease, of simple, plain fear.

“Good morning, Imogen.” Erik’s deep voice broke into my bleak thoughts, startling me. I wiped away my tears quickly. The light shone just enough so that I could make out the shadow of his figure sitting in the chair in the room where I had slept.

He rose and pulled open the curtains fully, letting the light shine through the windows brightly now, illuminating the room, illuminating him. God. He really was a masterpiece. His strong, wide back was uncovered, his muscles sharp, defined as he did the simple task of opening the curtains. I tried to pry my eyes from the expanse of his shoulders and neck, the faint markings of his years as a soldier.

I spoke with strength, conviction, masking my emotions, my fears, hiding the tears that had so quickly risen in me. “Good morning,” I replied without enthusiasm.

He came over to my bed and sat down, causing my body to roll over against him. He smiled down at me with guarded tenderness and pushed my hair from out of my eyes. “You’ve been crying,” he said matter-of-factly.

“No,” I lied. “I’m just tired.” I didn’t dare look into his eyes. “How long have you been sitting here? Why?”

He kissed my forehead and my body tensed, tensed again from arousal, from his close proximity, from the kindness he never failed to surprise me with. “It’s okay, Imogen. I know you were crying. I know why, and I understand it. I couldn’t sleep. I’ve just been watching you, waiting for you to wake. I wish things were different…I wish…” And he stopped himself and rose, leaving an empty imprint next to me. “Please go take care of your personal needs. We have been requested in the main hall,” and he left me alone, shivering in bed.

Luckily, the weather was warming up, but still, having no clothes was painstaking, embarrassing, humiliating. Would this nightmare ever end? I took my time in the bathroom, tending to my hygiene, letting the shower run over my body in relentless hot streams that almost seared my skin. I couldn’t get it hot enough to erase the chill that ran through my every nerve ending, my ever vein. I did not want to get out; I did not want to face whatever it was that awaited my arrival in the main compound.

Erik knocked on the door. “Slave,” he spoke coolly. “We mustn’t be late. We need to go. Meet me in the living area.”

I shut off the water and slowly walked into the living area, covering myself as best I could, allowing my wet hair to fall over my breasts. I heard him sigh heavily as I entered.

“Come here,” he ordered, now fully clothed and even more domineering in his gray uniform. Our class system here was easily definable and I reddened with humiliation.

I walked over to where he sat and fidgeted foolishly, trying to figure out what to do. I obeyed like a loyal dog and cursed myself inwardly for my lack of conviction to fight him. Should I stand? Sit? I wasn’t physically cold, and yet my whole body trembled from nerves, the goosebumps impossible to hide.

“Still so shy,” he whispered. “It’s okay. Come here…”

IMOGEN: Claimed (#4)

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He took steps towards me and stood mere inches from my exposed, shivering body. He lifted my chin that way he did, and I refused to make eye contact. “Look at me, Imogen,” he ordered.

I refused. I couldn’t let him see my emotions, my turmoil. I needed to stay strong.

“Imogen,” he started again. “Obey me or pay the consequences. It’s been a very long, trying day. I have zero patience right now.”

Something in his voice made me obey, and I looked into his chocolate brown eyes to see that tenderness, that kindness that always lay just below the surface, muted with sadness and distress. I wanted to cry. I wanted to melt. I wanted to beg him to take me in his arms. I wanted to ask him to take me right there, hard and fast. Instead, I stood motionless.

“Tonight will be…” He struggled for the right words. “Unpleasant.” 

I refused to cry. I refused to show him any emotion. Instead, I haughtily said, “Then don’t do it.” And even as I said “it,” I wondered what it really was.

He sighed, long and heavy. “If only I had a choice, Imogen. Now go. Get ready for tonight.”

I desperately hoped he’d ask me to join him, but he didn’t, so I turned to go get ready, whatever that meant. I didn’t have clothes, and I had already bathed myself. I felt lost, so alone, so cold.

But before I left, he cautioned. “Imogen, obey me tonight in everything, starting with that tone of voice. Do you understand?” He spoke as if angry with me, disappointed with me.

I slunk out of the bathroom, barely able to speak, the lump in my throat huge and unwavering. “Yes, Sir.”

I went to the other bedroom that had become mine and let the tears flow. I absolutely, positively hated myself for not trying to fight him, that I was so obedient. Why? Why wasn’t I screaming at him? Why wasn’t I doing more? And I had no answers to those questions, except to admit that I had a deep need not to disappoint him and it wasn’t solely based on fear.

I must have fallen asleep, because I felt a light touch on my cheek as I looked to see Erik brushing away long strands of my hair from my face, struck against the wetness of my tears that had lulled me to sleep. “Oh, Imogen,” he soothed. “Come. Sit on my lap.” He held a brush. He was so hot and cold that my mind wanted to refuse him, and yet my body wouldn’t allow it.

I couldn’t control it and I did as he asked, needing to feel his comfort. My insides were in knots, my head ached, and I just wanted to crawl onto his lap and continue to cry, even though I knew I shouldn’t feel that way.

He didn’t say anything else, as he stroked the brush through my hair, gently, sweetly, and I tried not to moan at how good it felt. I felt like a cat snuggling into his warm touch and hated myself for how needy and weak I had come to feel.

He broke my silent self-berating and spoke softly. “I need to ask you some things, Imogen, and I need your honesty.”

The calm he had created vanished as tension seized my body again. “Okay,” I simply said.

“Explain to me how you felt when I touched Arthur’s slave. I need to know.”

My pride was up on guard, full-force. I would never admit I had felt jealousy, and then again, I’m not even sure what I felt.

I remained silent. “Answer me, Imogen. Were you jealous? Or did it arouse you? How did it make you feel?”

Oh dear god! Aroused? Was I? Was I aroused and jealous? Jesus “No, of course not! I already told you that!” I spoke too loudly, and even I knew I was protesting too much.

“No? No to what? So you weren’t jealous? Or you weren’t aroused?”

“Stop it, Erik!” I was beginning to sweat, uncomfortably embarrassed.

“Suit yourself, Imogen,” he said, putting the brush down. “You are only hurting yourself by not being honest with me. It does not please me to see you cry. But I warn you. Tonight I will be asked to do things that may make you uncomfortable. I may have no choice in the matter. If I do not follow orders, I can be demoted, I can be exiled. And that would not bode well for you. Chances are very slim that either of those things would happen, but I don’t want to take any chances.”

He waited for me to speak, to give me another chance to tell him how I truly felt, to bare a part of my soul to him. But somehow, I felt an indescribable rage and said nothing. I wouldn’t allow him to see just how weak I had become. I just couldn’t.

“Come. It is time. Again, don’t forget to keep your emotions in check. Do not forget what I have taught you. I was hoping tonight we could continue with your training, but we are called for. I am called for.”

My rage ebbed, and fear grew in the pit of my stomach as there was no way to avoid the night’s events. Slowly, I left the comfort of his lap, and we made our way over.

Before we even arrived back in the main compound, I heard shrieks, and I instantly knew it was the slave from the morning who had shared Malachi’s lap with me. I shuttered and grabbed Erik’s hand instinctively, trembling.

“No, Imogen,” he scolded and removed my hand from his.
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