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About the author:
What inspired you to write your book?
A friend introduced me to the world of BDSM and when she did I found my mind was awhile with ideas for stories. Just the idea of having some guy you’ve been lusting after kidnap you and make you his love slave as a story, practically writes itself.
Here is a short sample from the book:
“That’s better,” Jaxon said. “Now you are beginning to look like a proper slave. We’ll work on your behavior.”
He attached a leash to the collar as if I was some sort of animal that he was going to take for a walk. “Get on the floor. Crawl on your hands and knees.”
I hesitated. It seemed too demeaning for him to be serious. I wasn’t an animal. That hesitation cost me. I felt his hand slap my tender bottom, hard. I jumped forward, then had to regain my balance because of the high heels. I got down on all fours.
What the hell was this about? I’d thought we were going to have sex now. He knew that I was ready. I knew that he was ready. Why this bizarre farce of having me crawl?
I again considered using the safe word. While I was mentally weighing my options, measuring my fears against my desires, I felt the collar yank on my neck. Jaxon had started walking and I’d missed it. The pressure was more on the sides of my neck than on my throat, but it had hurt a bit. Jaxon tugged on the leash impatiently.
I was angry with him, mad at him for doing all of this, for being so strange in his demands and in his lusts. Why couldn’t he just treat me like a person? Why couldn’t he want a normal girl? I dug into the carpet with my knees and my palms, refusing to go anywhere.
Jaxon frowned. “I see we are going to have to do this the hard way.”
He walked back, smacked my butt again, harder this time. I yelped and moved sideways, defensively putting the side that he had smacked away from him.
He took two steps and smacked me on the other side. He sighed. “Turning the other cheek won’t do you any good.”
I spun around, still on all fours. I glared at him. He looked exasperated.
“What did I tell you about disobeying me?” He waited a while before I reluctantly answered.
“You said I would be punished.” The words were soft, almost a murmur. He was going to spank me again, I realized. He’d warned me that he’d punish me if I disobeyed, and I did it anyway. I could have said the safe word, but instead I’d just been obstinate.
Another stinging slap hit my buttocks.
“What did you say?” he demanded.
Another slap landed before I realized my most recent mistake in a long night of mistakes.
“You said that I would be punished, Master.” I said. The swats on my butt still hurt, but I think I was getting used to the pain. I still didn’t like it, but it wasn’t quite as sharp. Or perhaps I was just becoming accustomed to the piercing pain.
“That’s better.” He looked satisfied. “Don’t make the same mistake again.”
“No Master, I won’t,” I obediently replied. All I had to do was to play along with each request, to take this one step at a time. I could make it through this. I could. I just had to be careful, to anticipate what he wanted. I had to please him.
“You will have to be punished for your earlier refusal.” He did not look disappointed at this. He looked almost eager.
Instead of tugging on the leash again, this time he just scooped me up in his arms. He was so strong. He lifted me effortlessly.
He carried me like a child into the next room, to a long, wooden table. It looked like an antique, but somehow it blended well with the modern furniture in the rest of his penthouse.
The table looked like it should be surrounded by knights or monks having some kind of medieval feast. It was empty, though. Oddly enough, there weren’t even any chairs.
The only thing on the table were two objects in the center, on the side opposite from where we were standing. As we approached, I could see that they were some kind of leather cuffs. They appeared to be attached to the table with sturdy metal rings.
Jaxon set me down, then bent me over the table and slid my hands through the leather cuffs. He tightened some straps and I was stuck, held fast by the restraints. I instinctively tugged, trying to get free, but I was firmly trapped.
I was stretched across the table, my high-heeled feet still on the floor, my tender bottom completely exposed, helpless. The height of the table was such that I had to spread my legs slightly in order to keep my balance.
Jaxon ran his hand over my behind. I tried to turn around to see what he was doing, but the restraints wouldn’t allow me that kind of motion. All I could do was to wait and see what he was going to do next.
That was when I became really scared. I had never been so helpless before, not even in Jaxon’s iron grip on the couch. I had a flashback to any number of horror movies I had seen, and realized that I had never actually seen Jaxon with the same Mayflower girl twice. They’d show up at the bar, they’d leave with him, and I’d never, ever see them again.
Well, no. I immediately realized that wasn’t quite true. I did run into Tiffany again. That was what put me on the disastrous path that led me here. If Tiffany lived through her time with Jaxon, the man probably wasn’t going to chop me up and put me in his freezer.
Come to think of it, Tiffany had lived through at least one weekend with Jaxon. She was younger than me, smaller than me, and she looked weaker than me. My pride kicked in. I had been intimidated by the beauty and sex appeal of the Mayflowers I’d seen, but I’d also felt a bit of scorn towards them. I’d felt like they might be prettier than I was, but that I was still better overall than they were.
This, I realized, was my chance to prove it. If I broke, if I used the safe word, not only would I have to face the humiliation of explaining to Jaxon how I ended up in his home tonight, but I’d also have to suffer the additional humiliation of knowing that I had broken in a situation where countless Mayflowers had endured.
I have many personal flaws. I have many virtues. I have some traits that seem to move from one category to the other, depending on circumstance. My stubbornness and my competitive nature are some of that other kind of trait. They’d helped get me into this fix, but they might just help get me out.
While I was mentally steeling myself for whatever was going to happen next, I heard several clues. I heard Jaxon’s leather-soled shoes move across the room to the wall directly behind me. I heard a cabinet open. I heard Jaxon’s shoes moving back across the room, moving around the table until he finally entered my view. He showed me what he had in his hands.
In one hand, he held some kind of paddle. I had never seen anything like it before. It was made of multiple layers of thick leather, like the kind they use for the soles of fancy shoes, stitched together with some kind of sturdy white thread.
In his other hand, he held a bamboo cane. The handle was wrapped in black leather, with thinner layers than the paddle, but it had the same white thread.
“Choose,” he commanded me.
I shuddered. The Mayflower girls endured this? I remembered my mom telling me about a thing that happened back in the 1990s. An American teenager living in China had vandalized a bunch of cars. Like, really badly. He’d slashed tires, poured paint thinner on them, and he’d stolen a bunch of road signs as well. In China, they still cane people as punishment.
Caning breaks the skin. There is bleeding. I’d looked it up. As a girl, after mom had told me about it, I had become horribly fascinated with the subject. There aren’t geysers of blood, but it’s not just a few drops either. The American government had pleaded on behalf of the kid, and the Chinese government reduced his sentence from six strikes of a cane down to only four strikes. The Chinese government felt like six strikes from a cane was sufficient punishment for somebody causing thousands of dollars’ worth of damage. I wondered how many strikes Jaxon thought would be fit punishment for my refusal to crawl for him?
I didn’t want to find out.
“The paddle.” I said. Then I remembered myself and added, “Master.”
Jaxon smiled as if I’d confirmed something that he’d already known. Then he looked at me, as if I was something of a puzzle.
“You have no idea,” he told me. “How long I’ve wanted to have you at my table.”
I was horrified. I was flattered. He’d fantasized about doing this to me? For how long? He’d taken notice of me, wanted me here, naked.
Jaxon left the cane on the table next to me where I could see it. He disappeared from view. I could hear his footsteps moving back around the table until they were behind me again.
My brain was screaming at me to quit this madness, to just stop. Just say the safe word before he could do any more harm to me. I gritted my teeth. Jaxon wanted me. I was going to prove to him that I could handle as much as the Mayflowers. I really hoped that they’d never chosen the cane.
I sensed movement. I heard a noise–the whoosh of the paddle moving through the air. I braced myself, but no impact came. I heard a second whoosh, then a third. What was he doing? Warming up? Or was he just trying to frighten me? If so, it was working.
As horrifying as the scene was for me, I tend to get bored easily. By the fifth whoosh, my mind had wandered back to the way that Jaxon’s fingers felt on me, the way that they felt in me. I was still wet down there, I could tell. I still had tingling feelings where he had touched me.
What if he wasn’t going to actually paddle me? What if he was just going to have sex with me, from behind, while I was helplessly stretched out like this? I remembered my workplace fantasies of Jaxon calling me into his office, of him bending me over the desk just like I was bent over this table and taking me from behind. Was my fantasy going to come true?
Even if he wasn’t bluffing, even if he did use that leather paddle on me, surely he’d take advantage of the situation afterward. It occurred to me that other than that kiss in the car–that sweet, wonderful kiss–I hadn’t really gotten anything from him. I mean, here I was completely naked in a well-lit room, on display for him. He could be looking right at my… at my private zone. My legs were still slightly apart, my hips tilted over the table, my ass raised up. I started to get embarrassed just thinking about what his view must be like. Yet he was still fully clothed.
He’d touched me, but I hadn’t even touched him. I’d gotten a better look at him that day when he was shirtless in his office. My tingling increased just thinking about what he’d looked like that day. I became aware of my breasts lying flat against the ancient wood of the table. I imagined Jaxon’s hands on them. I imagined him groping me as he entered me from behind.
That’s when the first blow from the paddle landed.
I had thought that I knew what to expect. I had thought that this would be like the spanking, only worse. This wasn’t just worse, though, it was also different. The spanking had all been done with a strong but light touch, Jaxon’s hand stinging my skin. The leather paddle was thick and heavy. It didn’t just smack my skin. It crashed into me hard, with almost a thud.
Where Jaxon’s hand had stung my skin, making it hurt, making it burn, the paddle impacted deeper. I knew from the first strike that it was going to leave a bruise.
“Does that feel good?” Jaxon’s voice was almost mocking.
I didn’t respond. I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t lie, couldn’t just tell him that it felt good, even though that was what he seemed to want me to do.
He smacked me again with the paddle, on the other cheek this time. I winced, and my body bucked from the pain. I was going to have another bruise.
“I said, does that feel good?” He seemed almost angry.
“Yes, Master,” I responded through gritted teeth. I could lie now, but I couldn’t hold back the tears welling up in my eyes.
“When I ask you a question you will answer without hesitation or you will be punished.” He was instructing me, like I was a disobedient grade-schooler.
“Yes, Master.” I was getting good at saying that.
I could feel him run his hand over the still-burning flesh of my behind, then continue down my thigh. He wasn’t exactly tender, but his touch was soft. He pushed my legs outwards, spreading them wider. If any parts of me had been concealed before, they weren’t now.
“You do have a sweet little ass. You are going to make a great slave.” He sounded pleased. It was both flattering and insulting, like I was some kind of prize animal that he’d just purchased, and he was inspecting the goods.
I reminded myself that he was doing what he was supposed to be doing. This was normal for him, his conduct was all perfectly appropriate. I was the interloper. I was the one who had snuck in uninvited. I was the one who had foolishly gotten in over my head, like a sheep in wolf’s clothing during mating season.
“Jaxon.” This was it. I’d had enough. I had to explain things to him, to make him understand. “Jaxon, listen to me.
“I didn’t say you could speak.” He was angry. I’d spoken out of turn. I’d called him by his name, not by his title. I started to cry.
“You will learn not to speak unless spoken to.” He began spanking me with the paddle, and I lost the ability to speak. I lost all thoughts except for awareness of the sick, red pain that the paddle was inflicting on me. I full-out cried, tears streaming from my face. I prayed–and I hadn’t prayed in years– that my punishment would end.
Finally it did.
“Have you learned your lesson?” He asked the question simply, as if he had asked what time it was.
“Yes, Master,” I murmured. Please, please, forgive me. Please stop. I tried to remember the safe word, but couldn’t quite remember it. Something biblical. That was it: exodus. Departure. Escape. If I said it, I could leave. This would all be over.
Jaxon would never as much as speak to me again.
“I can’t hear you,” he said. The paddle smacked by bare flesh again.
“Yes, Master,” I said. I managed to be louder this time.
“I don’t want to hurt you, my sweet little slave. It’s just the only way to ensure your obedience.” He sounded almost kind. Almost. Why did I have to fall for this man?
I still couldn’t bring myself to say the safe word. I still wanted to try to explain how much I was in over my head. I couldn’t do either of those things, so I just responded with the only words that I knew he wanted to hear: “Yes, Master.”
“That’s a good girl!” He seemed genuinely pleased with me. He moved his hand over my buttocks, slowly, appraisingly. “Here is your reward.”
He moved his hand lower and slipped a finger inside of me. I was still wet. The finger went in easily. A second finger joined it and they started probing, finding special spots within me that I hadn’t even known about.
I was angry at him. I was furious at him for hurting me, for being the kind of man who would ever want to hurt a woman, but his fingers were quite skilled and my body was still on full alert, ripe and ready to assimilate any new sensations. I stifled a gasp as one of his fingertips pressed on a place deep inside of me, someplace that came to life with a glowing burst of pleasure.
Before the paddling, I would have eagerly welcomed him–any part of him–inside of me. Now my mind just wanted him to leave me alone, to go away and to let me cry. My body seemed to feel differently. My body didn’t want him to stop. It wanted him to do more.
The fingers withdrew. Then one of the fingers entered me again. No, this was shorter. Thicker. Jaxon’s thumb. His two fingers, still slick from being inside of me, found my clitoris. He squeezed and released, moving his hand back and forth. His thumb was sliding in and out of me, his fingers were slipping back and forth over my clit. This time I couldn’t stifle the gasp.
He leaned over my body so that he could whisper in my ear. I could feel the heat from his body. He continued to move his hand, to tease me. No man had ever touched me that way before.
Jaxon knew the answer, he could feel the answer with his hands, he could hear the answer in that gasp that escaped through my lips, but he asked me anyway: “Do you like that?”
I knew the answer as well as he did: “Yes, Master.”
“Do you want me to continue?”
“Yes, Master.” I let out a soft moan and he began moving his hand faster. His thumb was pleasing and teasing at the same time. Its presence felt incredible, but it just wasn’t quite enough to be fully satisfying. The sweet, slippery friction as his fingers glided over my clit was just amazing. I felt pleasure building up inside of me, sweet erotic sensations that felt like they were getting ready to explode. I felt like I was getting close to something, like that pleasure was turning into a pressure that was about to release.
The pain was still there. My buttocks still burned and stung. My arms ached from being locked in this position. The pain was fading into the background, though, as Jaxon’s fingers worked their magic.
“You are a naughty girl, aren’t you?” He sounded like he was smiling.
My hips were moving now, as best as they could. My body was meeting that thrusting thumb of his. I was grinding myself on his fingers. I couldn’t deny his accusation.
“Yes, Master, oh God, yes.” It was getting hard to talk, hard to think. My nipples were hard, rubbing against the table. I felt a loosening, an uncoiling somewhere below my navel and between my hips. I realized what that building pressure was. For the very first time in my life I was going to have an orgasm. I couldn’t believe it.
“Are you going to come, you naughty girl?”
“Yes! Yes, Master!” My breathing was ragged. I was right on the edge.
He pulled his hand away from me entirely, and I was left hanging on that edge that I so desperately wanted to plunge off of. I let out a wordless cry of frustration.
“The thing is,” he said. “I didn’t say that you could come. You are my slave and you will come only when given permission to do so.”
I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe that he could bring me so close, so screamingly close, then just leave me hanging like that. He really was a sadist.
“Would you like to come, my slave?”
“Yes, Master.” Yes, yes, oh, God, YES! Yes, I really, desperately wanted to come. I needed to come. I felt like if I didn’t have an orgasm soon, my body would simply implode.
“In that case…” He trailed off, and his fingers returned to their previous position.
I groaned as his thumb slid back into my welcoming body. I could feel every millimeter of it. My body was so sensitive at that point, I swear, I could almost read his thumbprint.
The fingers found me, rubbed my little hood, rubbed the tiny bud beneath it, and I was immersed back into a world of satisfying, slick sensation. He tortured me a bit more. I could tell that whenever I got close, he’d slow down, or change up.
Minutes went by, minutes of the most erotic pleasure that I had ever known. I wanted it to never end. I wanted it to finish; I wanted that orgasmic bliss that I had been denied my entire life, that explosion of pleasure that was dancing teasingly around the edges of all my senses.
Then, finally, it happened. Jaxon could sense it. He kindly gave me permission right before it happened.
He said the words, “You may come now, slave,” then an arc of pleasure shot from my clit to those special spots that he was touching inside of me, and that arc formed a lightning bolt of overwhelming bliss that shot up my spine and exploded in my brain.
The sheer power of it was too much to contain, and I had to scream the pleasure out of me while my body thrashed in my restraints. Every muscle twitched and danced, and every fiber of my body cried out in the physical joy of orgasm.
I kept crying out, and my brain started to melt down. Random thoughts, memories, and ideas blinked in and out of my head as my neurons kept exploding within me, like a series of tiny mushroom clouds. I forgot to breathe, then I remembered again, and I took in a deep gasp of air.
My mind slowly returned to me. I could think again.
That was it. That was an orgasm. That was what I had been missing out on for my entire life. I was too ecstatic to feel cheated by those lost years of pleasures never had, and the tears streaming from my face were tears of unbridled happiness. They were tears of completion.
“Oh, my slave.” Jaxon’s voice was filled with faux pity that almost masked his own happiness, and what sounded like significant pride. “Did I say that you could stop coming?”
His hand kept moving. His fingers and thumb kept rubbing and probing. I felt a kiss on my lower back, then a nip of Jaxon’s teeth on one of my bruised buttocks. Then I exploded all over again, and again, as Jaxon forced more and more pleasure into me, until finally I couldn’t take any more, and reality itself became a seemingly endless series of waves, of eternally cresting and falling pleasure.
At some point I must have passed out. I must have actually passed out from it all, because I only have vague memories of Jaxon carrying me down a hall, through a doorway, and setting me on a bed.