I am on the final edit of this very steamy book about a hot young actor and a feisty female studio executive. Though it is not an age-play novel per se, it does offer a scene or two in which our heroine (currently named Chelsea) learns how freeing it is to be a little girl again.
This snippet takes place soon after the two have met, and Braxton (our hero) takes a wander through his dungeon.
(This is not the cover. I just love the picture.)
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His row of floggers and crops beckoned, and meandering around the exotic furniture he reached the row of hooks that held them in a line across the wall, picking up the first one he’d ever owned. It was still his favorite. He’d even named it Freddy the Flogger as he’d swished it across Rebecca’s gorgeous ass. It was heavy, with thick, wide tendrils, and it delivered a deep burn that made most women bleat with joy and pain.
(Pic borrowed from unknown FB post)
“Would you love this, Chelsea?” he murmured as he lifted it from its holder. “Would you moan with pleasure if I sent it across your backside? Would I find you wonderfully wet after only a single lash, or would it take two, or three? Have you ever experienced the highs something like this has to offer?”
She was so intense when she worked out, so focused, so determined, it suggested she was a deeply passionate woman, someone who didn’t believe in half-measures, but he also knew the work of a film executive could be extremely stressful, and he could imagine the pressure she was under. He wanted to set her free, to release her brilliant mind and beautiful body. Could there be anything more wondrous than a woman so accomplished and strong, kneeling before him and calling him, Sir? Was there any chance that such a woman would surrender to him, whimper his name as she begged for her release? Just the thought sent his cock to life, and placing the flogger back on its hook, he grabbed a towel, laid it on one of his bondage benches, and unzipping his slacks he pulled out his cock and began to rub.
He pictured Chelsea in her workout clothes, tethered and bent over in front of him, presenting her bottom for pain or pleasure, though in his world pain and pleasure were kindred spirits connected in a deliciously decadent dance. Closing his eyes he imagined slowly lifting her long T-shirt up to her waist, peeling down her black tights to the tops of her thighs, and gazing upon her bottom for the very first time.
A wave of energy pulsed through his loins as he saw himself running his hands over her flesh, pinching and squeezing, then spanking her with hot, stinging smacks. He wanted her, he wanted her like he’d wanted no other woman. He clenched his teeth as his fever took hold, and an unexpected image suddenly flashed through his mind.
She was in a red satin corset and red stockings, with black glossy high-heels gracing her feet. His cock exploded, spewing his essence across his hand, and he panted heavily as the powerful eruption passed. He rested for a minute, then catching his breath he grabbed the towel and wiped himself up.
“What the hell was that?” he mumbled perching on the side of the bench. “When was the last time I pictured a woman in a corset, or even saw a woman in a corset? Where did that come from?”
I hope you enjoyed this small excerpt. The book, still untitled, should be released the second week in January.