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About the author:
What inspired you to write your book?
My style of writing reflects my life; open, unabashed, and willing to take risks. I don’t shy away from uncomfortable subjects, and I revel in the naughtier pleasures of writing. It is my personal flavor of the written word and lust for creative expression that I wish to share with a like minded blogosphere and readership.
Here is a short sample from the book:
Why was I surprised that both wrists were raw and stung? I knew when I allowed myself to be restrained that my hands would never slip through the red vinyl straps. Hell, if it weren’t for the ones that ran across my waist and knees, I would have slid to the floor an hour ago. Half exhausted and crazed, I knew I should’ve used what little time I had alone to rest my mind as well as body. But the bats that ate the butterflies in my stomach had gone into a panic. I guess they too sensed what was to come. Still, I thought under the circumstances I’d be shown a speck of mercy. “Riiiggghhhttt, keep hope alive.”
Any other time, like the week before last, the coolness of the basement game room would’ve been welcomed. After playing four straight sets of pool bent over the table, with my Master lodged between my thighs daring me to miss a cue or a thrust, the chill in the air was all that helped me keep my focus. Tonight, covered in sweat as I was, back pressed against the varnished crossbeams, I prayed fervently for a blackout.
With my eyes closed and head rested between the beams, I wondered again, what I’d done to deserve such exquisite torment. I recalled running late this morning. I attended to my Master’s needs over the phone, and was up most of the evening. As wired as I was, an unfiltered menthol would have helped me chill before bed. Since I’d quit the habit a month ago, sour apple Super Blow Pops had become my poison of choice. In fact, I’d grabbed the last sucker from my stash as I replaced the bullet vibe and lube in their black felt box. Apparently, gas and batteries wouldn’t be the only things I stopped for at the corner station.
My head shot up too fast; I became woozy for a second. I blinked hard for a bit, which helped, then trained my eyes toward the ceiling. The urge to pee damn near got the better of me, as I realized the sound had come from the floor above me, the kitchen. I knew from past experience what it meant; my Master had gathered his tools for the night and would soon make his way downstairs. Think, think, think. What had I done to displease him? My mind froze, unlike my bladder as I felt the first warm trickle race down my leg.
I tried hard to remember. I ran late this morning, no time for toast or coffee, I grabbed my keys, purse, and briefcase as I rushed out the door. I was going to be at least a half hour late, and there was a big meeting schedule early this morning. Just as my tires screeched to a stop beside the only available pump, my cell phone sang out Flo-Ridda’s “Right Round”. I snatched the cell off the front passenger seat before I shot out the car and sprinted toward the convenience store. As I rushed through the aisle in search of batteries, I listened as my Master praised me for my performance of last evening. A performance for which I’d earned a night out on the town right after work, a night in which my Master would allow me to do whatever I wanted. Hot damn!
I’d slapped a twenty on the counter for the only two packs of nine volt batteries left on the shelf, and told the cashier to put the rest on pump number seven. My breath was heavy and rapid as I made my way back to the car, which greatly pleased my Master as his own breath had become rapid and deep. Gas pumped, I’d slid into my seat and closed the door in time to hear his baritone wail my name through the receiver. I started to ask my Master if he would perform for me tonight when the “low cell” alert flashed across the screen. The spare charger was in the glove compartment, and I asked my Master to bear with me a moment while I rummaged for it.
It was then I noticed my watch. Oh crap, I was really pressed for time. I couldn’t find the damn charger, and I needed a cigarette in the worst way. Traffic was insane; I’d barely pulled into the lane when it hit me. “Blow Pops!” How could I have forgotten? It took me ten whole minutes to find a place where I could make a some-what safe U-turn and get back to the store. I’d bought eight dollars worth of the little suckers and was back in my car in minutes. I knew I’d be in deep doo-doo if I missed the morning briefing, and prayed the traffic cameras would catch the car just behind me as I sped down the street.
Fortune smiled on me. The briefing was cancelled due to a more important meeting the entire management team had to attend. Best of all the office snoop and self-appointed time keeper had to cover the front desk in the director’s suite, and never knew I came in late. The rest of the day was no more hectic than usual, nothing out of the ordinary happened. Except, my Master hadn’t called to check on me. But I’d been a good girl and would be rewarded. So no worry there, I thought. So what happened between this morning and now that changed everything?
“Oh mercy!” The heavy thuds of my Master’s footsteps on the carpeted stairs were like nails on a blackboard to my nerves. “Damn it woman think”. Ice sloshed and rattled against metal, an unmistakable sound I’d hoped never to hear again. My heart sank into my bowels as all-rational thought fled me.
“What did I do? Please Master tell me what I did wrong, I’ll make it right. I swear!”
“You disappointed me greatly, Elizabeth”, was all my Master said. He didn’t even bother to stop what he was doing long enough to glance my way. Instead, he busied himself setting up the small craftsman table he kept just for our “instructional time”. I tried to gauge by the set of his shoulders, and the rigid stance of his long corded legs how intense tonight’s lesson would be. Dread and a sharp twinge from my now empty bladder was all I got, as my Master stood to his full height.
Like a true predator, my Master dominated my field of vision with his ebony perfection as he sauntered toward me.
“It’s back to basics I’m afraid.”
Bullshit. His Godiva filled eyes may have been sorrowful, but his swallow-you-whole lips were already crooked in a lopsided smirk. “Twenty-two”, was all he said as he leaned over the six inches he needed to kiss my forehead. It was then I caught the familiar scent on his breath. My will collapsed completely, and I found myself grateful for those damned restraints, as my body followed suit.
With one of his trademarked you-poor-fool shake of the head, my Master finally stepped aside and revealed my sin. On the small crafts table sat a metal bucket filled with cubed ice and a half submerged glass fishbowl. Inside the bowl filled with crushed ice, my cell phone floated as a school of stem-less green Super Blow Pops circled around.
“Oh, no.” Because of that damned charger, I’d have to endure one green arctic head for every message missed. As if in denial of what was to come my anus puckered shut. My Master, now behind me dropped to his knees, parted my ample rear, and began lubricating the way with his tongue. I’d been warned smoking would bite me in the ass, fortunately, it just happened to be tonight.