Friday, July 26, 2013

Stained Sheets, too hot for some sites to handle...

There's a lot of nasty BDSM sex in Stained Sheets...about the cheating wife Marni and her husband's scheme to turn her into his owned slave, with the help of the sexy, sadist PI, Charlie Nash. The story is a fun, outrageous fantasy romp through the BDSM world...and very politically incorrect, as it should be for this genre. Which apparently is what the book censors don't get. A fun, fantasy romp through the BDSM world, but NOT real life. Yes, this was my other recently banned title and so I'm featuring it this week. But let's not to dwell on that sore subject, but get straight to the kink...

As with all of my titles, Stained Sheets is available from Pink Flamingo and the Erotic Book Network. Banned books are now On Sale both in ebook and paperback on both sites.

 Carlton (Marni's husband) speaking to Private Investigator Charlie Nash...

“I don’t know what to tell you, Carlton,” he said, as he laid the photographs on the table between us. His voice was low and he glanced furtively around the open air cafĂ© before continuing, “She’s a damn fine piece of ass—but she’s getting laid by a whole lot of men—that are not you.”

    I knew this was true, but still it hurt to see the evidence before my eyes. Black and white images, poses too numerous to mention, men of varying sizes and shapes. The backdoor ones were the most startling. The way the pictures were haphazardly scattered across the table reflected the clutter of thoughts inside my brain; and my headache only grew worse. Meantime, I fought back the temptation to sweep them back into the envelope, or at the very least, light them on fire lest those sitting nearby by would see the graphic display and be as appalled as I was.

     “Amazing camera work,” I managed to say as I stared at Marni’s round behind, her cheeks parted and her asshole entered by some hulking, bare-assed black man. Framed by the hotel window where they fucked, the image couldn’t have been more damning, more heartbreaking, or arousing. My cock tensed, growing larger by the minute; I wanted to shove myself in that ‘other’ love hole, but I’d thought it was something to wait for. Now I know; Marni obviously wasn’t waiting for me.

    “You’d be surprised what you can to these days with long distance lenses,” Charlie said in his most professional voice.

    “Yeah, the proof’s right here.”

    “She should be more discreet,” he added.

    “She shouldn’t be doing it at all!” I shot back tersely.

    He didn’t reply, so I could more easily work on the solution to the dilemma of my wife, my bride. Oh, I had my plans laid out long before this meeting, conceived about the time I hired Charlie on that hot Tuesday in August, six weeks to the day before this meeting.
    But it wasn’t enough to employ my detective friend Charlie Nash to do my dirty work—hunt her down and record the facts—I had more in mind for him than just his following her as she rendezvoused with a bevy of horny men. He had other talents. It had been my hope that he would see Marni the way I did: lusty and provocative to the point of making men ravenous, even if she was a difficult woman to manage. Managing her sexual obsessions had turned out to be more than I could handle; why not let Charlie have a try? I had nothing to lose.

    “So…” he sighed. “You annul the marriage; that shouldn’t be too tough.”

    I shook my head, my mind deep in the midst of the pressing fantasy. “All I can think about is punishing her.”

    “Then punish her, goddammit; she’s earned her stripes.”

    “I’m afraid I won’t stop.”

    “No. You can’t do it angry,” he conceded.

    “I can’t do it at all…but I do know what she needs.”

    “And that is?”

    “Few women need a sadist,” I looked up at him, “Marni does.”

    “So, you come to me,” he grinned slyly.

    “You’re the only sadist I trust.” As if I knew a phonebook full of sadists.

    Now he laughed, just before he turned solemn as a preacher and leaned in over the table, saying in all sincerity. “What do you hope to gain, Carlton?”

    I shook my head.

    “Love?” His eyebrows lifted with the question.

    “I have her love,” I said. I think for a while, then decide that there is only one real answer to his question. “I want to own her.” The word came out with a malicious ring. “I want all that raw desire of hers focused on me and me alone.”

    Charlie leaned back in the wrought-iron chair and gazed toward the sky, breathing deeply, then he looked back at me. Fresh and dashing as ever, sipping Russian vodka, casual as you please on a warm September afternoon, turning the heads of every woman who passed by the table; this was Charlie. I don’t even recall knowing any man more handsome, or more of a sadist in his relationships with consenting masochistic females. A heady combination. If I were to lose Marni to any man, it would be Charlie Nash. But I didn’t plan on losing my wife and Charlie was just part of my scheme to win her fidelity.

PI Charlie Nash narrating ...

The house is quiet and a little cool, like a dark sanctuary.

    Marni’s urged me quickly inside, probably worried what the neighbors will think. She grabs me right away, without bothering to put away her groceries; first time I’ve felt her attack and now I know what regular men desire in her. She goes primal like a madwoman, grabbing at my shirt and kissing my face, my lips, my neck, moving down in a frenzy of excitement.

    I haul off and slap her face, so that she reels back, stumbling over a chair in the hallway.

    “Don’t ever do that again!”

    She slumps to the floor. “What did I do?” Her eyes tear and her lips form a petulant scowl.    

    “If I wanted an aggressive woman, I would have picked up one of the bitches walking the streets.”

    I leave her coldly with that thought and begin my seduction by moving through the house, inspecting the place, peeking behind doors and into cupboards, being nosy for the sake of being nosy and unsettling her. She hangs back at first, then finally catches up with me as I’m mounting the stairs and looking for the bedroom; the one she shares with Carlton will do just fine.

    She follows me while looking baffled by my brusque air of judgment and the look of contempt. Moving into the master bedroom I survey the scene quickly: the made bed, the pile of clothes on the floor, the freestanding mirror in the corner, and an unkempt clutter of brushes, combs and perfume bottles on the dresser.

    I open a drawer and then another, looking for scarves and something to gag her with. When I find what I want, I move to the bed with my finds and draw her close.

    “This where you and hubby make love?”

    She nods.

    “So maybe it’s time to desecrate these sheets, don’t you think?”

    She has no answer for my question, but that’s quite all right. I’m busy binding her wrists, pushing her to the bed, slapping her until she’s on her hands and knees.

    “You haven’t been punished enough, have you?” I say, derisively.

    I see her quivering limbs and her little ass inside the tiny skirt start to sway because she’s roaring hot. It’s all in the words. The attitude. I can have her any way I want as long as she hears the authority in my voice.

    I start with my hand, slapping her ass cheeks back and forth. I raise her skirt and slap some more, then lower her panties and picking up a hairbrush from her dresser I start smacking her ass real hard, so hard that when the sting gets too rough to handle, she collapses to the bed in fright.

    “Get up!”

    She doesn’t move.

    “Get up or I leave.”

    “No, Charlie, no!” she shouts as she scrambled back to her hands and knees.

    “No, huh? You want me to stay? You want more? Okay, then, take off your clothes.” She starts to scramble from the bed, but I stop her. “No, right there. Take them off right there, on hands and knees.”

    She stares back at me.

    “Go on.”

    It’s a tough struggle but she manages to remove her skirt and the panties, the t-shirt and the bra. In the process, her cunt has become so raw and liquid with desire that it’s nearly dripping sex juice on the bedspread. Her wet snatch beckons me closer, but it’s much too soon to fuck.

    “Turn around and crawl here closer.”

    Her eyes are a little glassy now, her will melding into mine.

    “Lick it, Marni,” I hold out the brush, “and beg for it.”

    She licks the smooth wood backside, then when I pull it away, her glassy eyes light on mine, “Please, sir, spank me.” Like she has it all rehearsed.

    “Hold out your hands.”

    She does so like a little child and I tie them together with knots as strong as steel, leaving long spare ends to use later.

    “Lie on your back with your arms over your head.”

    She scampers immediately to obey me, although it’s a little more difficult now with her hands bound. Even so, she manages to lie with her legs spread and her bound wrists pointed toward the headboard. I grab her ankles and slide her down so that her legs are off the end of the bed and dangling toward the floor. More scarves fix her legs wide apart, with each one tethered to far edges of the bed frame below. She is vulnerable and scared; her eyes riveted on me. This will be no ordinary spanking. I consider her vulnerable position and finally decide to tie her hands to the headboard. Climbing on the bed, I jerk the wrist scarves up right, giving her little room to move. Meanwhile, she breathes in to avoid the feeling of panic. I’ve seen this look in a submissive’s eyes before—the recognition of their helpless state and an ensuing terror that floods my own body with the sadistic pleasure I crave. I give her arms another jerk, picking up the very last bit of slack her bindings will allow, then tie the ends of the scarves into a sash that lashes to the headboard.

    This is her husband’s bed, Carlton Darrow’s bed and I’m going to abuse her here, leaving a stain on these sheets that no one can wash away.

    Her splayed pussy becomes my target. Unlike the fleshy female derriere that is made to take abuse, the punishment of that soft muff and the valley between a pair of outstretched legs will burn. She’ll twist in agony and begin to scream. She’ll curse and adore me in the same instant.

    I start by smacking her pussy with the back of the hairbrush in sharp, methodical smacks, in a rhythm so steady and unending that every nerve in her body quickly seizes up and she recoils in pain. Her voice is forced into pitiful sobs. Soon her wails rise in great gusts. She grunts. She fights. And I continue on, feeling the effect in my own crotch as the pleasure there mounts, and my cock hardens as the blood rushes in.

    Five maybe ten minutes pass—but then, who’s counting?

    I pause briefly, only so I can start in again, hopefully at another level of intensity. This is a test of her endurance, of her body’s ability to withstand pain, to draw it in and transform it into a masochist’s pleasure. A good submissive will come by this instinctively; some learn it because they are forced to. Although I knew at the outset that Marni would be naturally inclined to absorb such shocks, this is still a test she must pass.

    I break the momentum just long enough to untie her legs and thrust them up over her head, tying them off on the headboard. This raises her behind and further opens the cleft of her ass.

    “No, dammit, Charlie no!” she screams, until the screams dissolve into an eager panting pleasure when I caress her crotch to massage the pain away. Once she is soothed and her anger abates, I begin spanking the soft spot at the very base of her ass, and torment her exposed pussy from another angle. Her cunt lips are already burning red when I start whacking her with the wood. I move my aim to the sides and onto her thighs, then return to the sweet spot. Although she’s very vocal in reply, there is not much real distress in her cawing, mewling, screaming torment. Her suffering becomes my pleasure.

    I’m done when I’m exhausted and have no more emotional strength left. Instead of the wood beating hard against her flesh, she has my hand lightly caressing the purpling skin. The heat is incredible, hardening my cock far beyond its normal erect size. Her juice drips freely, running down my hand. The massage continues until that wet valley bursts with need and she thrashes back and forth…

    “Please, please, dear gawwwwwwwwwd!” she’s screaming now in a pleasurable anguish.

    “Don’t you dare come!” I warn her as I struggle from my clothes.

    I grab her legs and shove myself inside the velvet glove, shocking her system with the banging action of my groin against her defenseless sexual body. As her channel closes in around my cock, I shudder with the first of many waves of orgasm shooting through me and into her.

    Her body goes rigid for a moment, then begins heaving in the throes of climax, after the first rasping jolt. Her mouth opens in a silent scream, her fists clench and her toes curl. The waves of orgasm keep pouring through us; great swells of energy come and go. At last, neither one of us can stand more and I pull out, dripping the last of myself onto the bed below.

    It’s not until I hear her whimpering that I undo her legs. By now, they would be cramped from the awkward position with every muscle sore and quaking. She cries in huge, weeping sobs until I climb back on the bed beside her and pull her into my chest.

    It seems my arms have the power to soothe her.

    Then again, maybe I need some soothing as well. After releasing her arms from the headboard and her wrists from the knotted scarves, she wraps herself around me like a cloak and, at least for a while, we fall into a deep sleep.

Copyright (c) 2005 Stained Sheets, all rights reserved.

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