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About the author:
I’ve been writing a long time, but only publishing in this genre recently.
What inspired you to write your book?
I’ve been into this sort of thing my entire life, as both top and bottom. I guess I just got so full up of stories some of them had to spill out.
Here is a short sample from the book:
This is the first section.
The first time I laid eyes on the Woman who would become my Mistress, my wife and my Queen, I stood slack-jawed in awe. I had come into the club to catch up with some friends and maybe play a bit, and there she was, stood at the bar. The line of her powerful thigh; the curve of her bosom; her broad shoulders; her firm jaw; and then those eyes. Oh God, those eyes. She looked at me. I’ll say that again. She, Goddess of the Dawn, looked at me, lowly worm. My knees buckled. She smiled, amused at my reaction, and extended an imperious hand, palm down, about waist height.
I shuffled over, dropped to my knees, took her fingers oh so gently in my hand, and touched my forehead to the back of her hand. A slight gesture of her fingers told me to release them, which I did immediately and with great reluctance. She placed one forefinger under my chin, raised my gaze to hers. My guts cramped with the force of my reaction to this Woman. Her eyes bored into me; grey-green, steady, unimpressed. In them, I was naked, chained, flogged, and obedient to her every whim. She saw through to the back of my skull, and without a word, or a gesture, we knew.
She said “Follow me.”
To the ends of the Earth, Ma’am. To the ends of the Earth.
She lead me out of the club, and to her car. Normally, I could have told you the make and model; but honestly, I didn’t even see it. She handed me the keys. “Do you know the city?”
“Take me to Salisbury Road. Number 47. Do not rush.”
She looked at me, and I startled to realise she was waiting for me to unlock the car, and open the rear door for her.
I did so, and she slid in. Her sober grey dress suit gave me no hint really of what was underneath, and with my eyes respectfully downcast, I caught no glimpse of calf or cleavage. I know she noticed.
I got in, and drove her across town to the address.
“Park in the drive.”
I got out, and opened her door for her. She got out, walked up to the front door, and unlocked it. She opened it, and with an ironic tip of the head, ushered me in. We both knew she would never open a door for me again. I could see a narrow hallway, and stairs leading up.
As the door shut behind me, I dropped to my knees, both hands flat on the floor, and waited.
“Go upstairs. Second door on the left. Strip naked. Come back down and find me in the sitting room. She pointed to a door on the left of the stairs.
Oh God. I didn’t know her name. Nobody knew where I was. And I had given up control to her. This was not sensible. Not safe. And utterly right.
I went upstairs, and found the room she had indicated. It was a plain spare bedroom, with a double bed, chest of drawers, an upright chair and a wardrobe. I stripped off my suit, folding each item neatly, and was soon down to my underwear. I hesitated for a moment. She had not said “underwear”. She’d said “naked”. Down came my boxers. My erection sprung up as the elastic released it. No hiding, then. Oh God.
I went downstairs, and stood outside the door. I breathed in deeply, held it, and knocked.
I opened the door, to a gently lit room. I saw to my relief that the curtains were closed. She was sat on a large sofa, across the room from the door. She had taken off her jacket, and had her arms spread across the back of the sofa. Her legs were crossed, one pointy shoe aimed right at my crotch.
I closed the door behind me, and waited.
“Come. Kneel by me.”
I did, and quickly.
“What is your name?”
I was flummoxed for a second. Of course! We’d never been introduced.
“And what do you do for a living, James?”
“I’m an administrator, Ma’am.”
“Oh? And what do you administer?”
It went on for a little while; she asked me the sort of questions you ask on a first date, only, I was naked, erect, and kneeling in her living room.
Then she asked me what I wanted. I couldn’t answer right away. There were so many things. I wanted to kiss her feet. To sleep at the foot of her bed. To please her in a million ways, big and small. To be used for her pleasure. To be whipped when she felt like beating me. To be tied, caned, plugged, gagged, to breathe in her cunt and to live each moment for her. I managed to distill it all into a breath, and say: “To please you, Ma’am.”
“Good boy. Do you have any questions for me?”
I should know what to call her, at least.
“How should I address you, Ma’am?”
“Ma’am is fine. Mistress is also fine. My name is Seraphina van Helsingfors. But you will not need that for now.”
“Yes Ma’am. Thank you Ma’am.”
I bowed my head and waited.
She stroked my cheek with the toe of one wickedly pointed shoe.
I kissed her foot. Tentatively at first, then more vigourously.
She shifted her position, and I saw her legs uncross. I could see up her skirt. It wasn’t only her jacket she had taken off. Her crotch was bare.
I kissed my way up one stocking-clad leg, and found the naked flesh of her thigh. I licked, gently. Her legs opened some more, and I caught the smell of her cunt. It filled me. My head spun, and I lost all rational thought. My head pressed between her thighs, and I tasted Her for the first time. It was heaven. Her well-maintained pubic hair caught in my teeth only a little as I used my tongue to part her lips. My mouth filled with the taste of Her. I lapped like a dog, dying of thirst, who is finally given a bowl of water. I drank Her in.
Her hand on the back of my head, Her thighs clamping my ears; I was suffocating, a little, and I loved it. She ground her cunt into my face, rubbed Herself off on it, used me for Her pleasure. It was the defining moment of my life.
Soon, she grabbed me by the hair and forced me down onto my back. She sat on my face and carried on riding my mouth. I don’t know how many times she came, but when she was done, she climbed back onto the sofa, and lay down, winded.
I put my head in her lap, also gasping for breath. She put her hand on my cheek.
Her praise was better than an orgasm.
When we had our breath back, she told me that she intended to beat me, to use my mouth or my cock whenever she wanted, to force her strap-on cock into my asshole as and when, and in all ways to treat me and my body as her own private plaything. Then she asked me whether I consented, and whether I had any limits.
“My body is yours to do with as you will. I only ask, please don’t break my heart.”
“And how would I do that?”
“By sending me away.”