The allure of her mystery master has Skye so aroused, she'll do anything he orders...
A sexy office sex scene from my novel
Force Me To Obey
About the book: Skye Sinclair has no idea what she’s asking for when she places a personal ad on an Internet B&D website. All she understands is her obsession… the naïve innocent knows nothing of the real S&M underworld she’s discovered. She thinks the game is just a tease—until a man from her office recognizes her picture and replies. His thinly veiled threat to expose her only intensifies her need to satisfy her dark dreams. An undated version of this title is now available. For more information click this link.
Excerpt from Force Me To Obey
There were more orders from my mystery man…simple ones, and I let my mind drift to thoughts of him and which man in my office he might be…perhaps Niven, Lockhart, McNary, or Lloyd? Any of the four could arouse my submissive lust. Of course, I could be way off base and my email master was none of these men, perhaps someone much less attractive, much more ordinary and approachable, thus much less exciting than I hoped for. I let my imagination drift away, and soon the effect of the dildo and ropes he ordered me to wear that day became more than an annoyance, more than irritation, more than just another assignment. It worked on me like the fingers of a lover, tempting, taunting, revealing the truth about myself. My belly swelled with desire, as my thoughts were captured, poised on the unknown man who demanded this of me. I was at his feet, naked but for this simple gear, waiting for his touch, waiting for the revelation.
The phone suddenly jangled, knocking me out of my dreams.
“Research Department,” I answered.
“Face the window, Skye, and pull down the blind. Close your eyes and wait for me. Do it now.”
Now? Here? Inside this half hidden cubicle? But what if…? I tried to blurt out, but it was too late. The phone clicked and the dial tone buzzed in my ear like a buzz saw.
I swiveled my chair, reached for the mini-blind ropes and tugged until the slats dropped down. Afraid to move from there, I closed my eyes and waited, feeling him near, feeling the ropes, the gnawing dildo in my pussy and my arousal soar far beyond its previous bounds. My body ached for his physical touch.
In minutes, my obedience was rewarded as I heard the crisp sound of shoes in the corridor and then the shuffling of feet behind me. Feeling the presence of a body hovering over me, I mentally sifted through the images, the men, the possibilities, and the ones I’d already dismissed. The cuff of his shirt brushed my cheek, while the scent of his cologne wafted toward my nostrils. He rested a palm on my shoulder and squeezed firmly, to which I reacted with a terrified shudder of delight.
His voice was low and muffled as it had been on the phone, so unlike the four men I knew about…or so I believed.
“The demands become serious from here on, Skye.” His fingers caressed my face and my body trembled scared. “Play with yourself for me. Eyes closed, hand inside your crotch.”
“Here? Now?” I croaked that old refrain.
“Here. Now,” he softly confirmed.
I lifted my skirt and parted my thighs, while the energy of sex burst from me in a raging torrent. For days I hadn’t come, so it only took a minute of frantic play to have me at the edge of letting go.
His hand gripped my throat hard. I was sure I’d suffocate. “Come!” he ordered, bending down to whisper in my ear. My body seemed to rip apart, with the end crashing in around me. My ass lifted off the seat, then my bound groin rocked back and forth as it settled down, making the chair squeak with each jarring movement, certainly telegraphing my state of being to the whole goddam world. I forgot myself, the place, the time, the company, and groaned because I could do no less.
“Hush!” I heard his imperative firmly remind me where I was. Then as the spasms ceased to shake my body, he released his grip. He backed away, saying, “No one’s going to bother you. Pull yourself together and get back to work.”
The sensations lingered with me long into the afternoon, along with the memory of his scent, the feel of his hand, the warmth of his skin, the gentle firmness of his voice. If only I had turned around and opened my eyes, I’d have seen his face. But he remained, instead, my mystery, the man without a face, without a name.
(c) Copyright Lizbeth Dusseau, all rights reserved. May not be used without permission.