Into The Dark Wilds...

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Forever haunted by his love...

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Man With The Leash

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Master in the Office...

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Bound For Pleasure

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The Little Savage and her New Master...

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Alone with the Master

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Entering the dungeon...

A hot dungeon scene at a Paris club, as Carly watches her master play with another sexy submissive. First of two parts.

Part One From Carly On Her Knees


La Plus Sombre Terre—The Darker Earth—a sequestered club in the heart of the Paris nightlife, advanced on Carly like a dream, the smoke so thick, the music so rooted and seductive that she could sense without bothering to open her eyes what kind of club she entered on the arm of Byron Haverleigh.

    “Don’t let it be said that I didn’t give you a good time,” he whispered in her ear as they crossed over the threshold into the teaming sexual environment. Her eyes and ears were assaulted by the sights and sounds; even the smells were pungent enough to lure her forward. She could almost taste the sex. Haverleigh was already wearing a mask, she was not. That this actually disguised his identity was not clear to her since the man’s distinguishing essence seemed written in every gesture, every movement of his body, even in the air that surrounded him. And Carly was on his arm like she belonged there.

    “What is this place?” she innocently whispered, even though she needed no more clues than the sound of cracking whips and female cries screeching above the din of music and low conversation to know the purpose of the club. They moved through a thick crowd of people, some masked, some not, with Carly’s eyes darting from place to place.

    “A dungeon, Carly,” he answered. “Whips. Chains. Pain. Screaming females. That sort of thing. Are you ready to run?”

    “No, not yet. I haven’t really seen a thing.”

    She saw his smile, his amusement. Far as she knew, he had no clue that she’d set him up—well, sort of set him up. But wasn’t that how it was supposed to be? She’d become his pet according to Dana’s instructions; from that point she’d follow his lead. The control was his.

    In a room, far from the cadence of minor chords coming from the band’s guitars, a girl was tied to a wall of vertical bamboo poles, her breasts and pussy poking through the spaces between them, vulnerable to the attack from a whip-wielding master. He artfully cracked the leather against her exposed flesh, leaving her skin red and raw, the girl’s head thrown back in the ecstasy of extreme arousal.

    Haverleigh let go of Carly’s arm and after exchanging glances with the master, he was handed the whip. With a nod to Carly he moved forward toward the writhing victim.

    “Aw, Sashe,” his voice was low and gravelly. Reaching between the bamboo he had her by the neck. “Come back to me, girl.” He shook her hard and the girl woke up from the pain-induced stupor to rest her eyes on him.

    “You have a problem with what’s been done to you?”

    “No, master.”

    “But you’re trembling.”

    “I’m scared, master.”

    “Scared of me?”

    “Yes, master.”

    Carly witnessed her tremor, the fear and lust contained in her heavily-lidded eyes.

    “Then tell me you don’t want more and I’ll leave right now,” Haverleigh told the girl.

    A moment of panic swept her face and she replied with a frantic, “No, no,” shaking her head as much as she could with her body tethered to the stakes. “Don’t leave me!”

    Haverleigh reached low between the bars this time and grabbed her ass. “Simon has had your tits and cunt. But what about your nasty ass,” he said as he squeezed until she shrieked.

    “Please, master, beat me!” Her cry whispered and needy.

    Haverleigh walked around the bamboo wall to the opening at the far end, then moved to the space behind the bound girl where he began to lay the whip against her back and ass. The shrieks and screams came on again, while Carly watched in mesmerized wonder. She’d seen this scene before; she’d been victim to similar ones when tortured by her lover James, but this was not the same kind of rote demonstration she’d experienced.

    The girl’s body and Haverleigh’s cadence of strikes needed no preliminary warm-ups to have them in the throes of a powerful back and forth between master and slave. In fact, the two seemed like one from the start; as if this was an old relationship and they were simply continuing what had already begun some time ago.

    Already Carly could feel the pulse of desire take hold in her lower regions. With liquor flowing through her veins, her inhibitions loosened until she was unable to disguise the seductive movements of her groin as she pressed her ass against the wall behind her. Even without rope, she was as immobilized as the girl tied to the bamboo wall. Carly’s mind leapt forward, imagining that the forceful energy of Haverleigh’s immutable control held her in place. She could hear his commands inside her head, feel his breath on her neck, and that distinct whisper of air that shocked the skin just before the whip reached out to mark its target. Her flesh was not the flesh that suffered the callous blows, but she felt the impact just the same, every jolt from the girl registering in her own physical form. All cogent thought seemed to vanish into the well of her natural desire for such shocking pain. Maybe once or twice with James she’d gone this deep, but never in such an atmosphere, with a watching audience hanging on to every invigorating moment. That she was not the center of this spectacle, the one on whom all eyes were focused filled her with envy. If it were she suffering on that rigid bamboo, she would be flying in the same realm of sensation as the lucky girl.

    Was it envy written in her reflexive movements? On her lips or in her eyes? Could her panting breaths be noticed, or the hunger in her body detected? Not once did she see Haverleigh’s attention waver from the bamboo girl. Did he even remember that she was there? His intent, his focus was solely on the savagely coming female writhing erotically against the bamboo poles. When he moved to her side and placed his hand against her ass, his whispering was unheard by the curious audience. But when he finally pulled back and returned the whip to its owner, there was a smile broadening on his face and a playful malevolence in his eyes.

    With his task finished, he moved directly to Carly’s side and pulled her toward him, his arm going around her waist in a gesture of ownership, though he made no comment as they moved back through the club toward the entrance.

    He doffed the mask at the door and tossed it in a garbage can, then led Carly to the street.

    “That’s it?” she asked, when they were yards away from La Plus Sombre Terre, headed back from where they came.

    “So, you wanted to stay?”

    “No, no, I suppose not,” she replied, though she really would have loved to have stayed and taken the girl’s place on that wall of pain.

    “I thought we’d find a place to fuck, if that’s all right with you,” he said.

    An instant of unimagined pleasure raced down her spine; a physical reaction he was sure to have felt when he was holding her so closely. “That is what you had in mind, isn’t it?” They hadn’t missed a step as they walked in the misty Paris night. He hadn’t looked at her, nor she at him, but they seemed as joined at the hip as any couple in love.

    Carly really didn’t know what to say in response to his direct question, but it was not conversation Byron Haverleigh wanted, just her body and its savage need. 


Part two, Carly's turn next time!

Copyright (c) Lizbeth Dusseau, all rights reserved.

This novel is available in Paperback and Ebook from Pink Flamingo Publications and The Erotic Book Network, as well as ebooks sites throughout the Internet

Another orgasmic joyride with you

Image licensed from Shutterstock

This prose poem...the submissive in me speaking to the Master in my life...

Back At It Again

Two thirteen in the afternoon and I’m licking copious amounts of girl cum from my fingers after another explosive orgasm

thinking of all the spasming instants when our bodies touched

and my physical energy fired off

like a lightning bolt striking high between my legs…

Like when in the park my hands reached out for yours and yours for mine

like two lost souls finding something to hold on to…

or the first kiss in that same place, when our lips met and the tremors began

and have continued every time our lips have met since

Or on the porch in that first hour, when kneeling between your spread thighs,

naked and in cuffs, going down on your erection, you squeezed me

with your powerful muscles tight against my body

and I shuddered at the wonder of this new feeling,

the first time I felt owned by someone other than myself – by you.

And in the bedroom that same day,

going down in the most intimate of sexual service between your legs,

when I began wriggling my hot crotch against the sheets

aroused and spasming in sensuous surrender,

having found a place of sexual heaven for you and a new aphrodisiac for me

Then later when you held my ass in your steely grip,

as if staking your claim to my body, riveting yourself to the woman I am,

And you maintained that I’m a slave without an ounce of doubt,

and a new door suddenly opened in me with an erotic thunderbolt

I could go on with how you hold my arms bound behind me

Smack me with your leather belt

Speak to me as my owner,

Insist I call you master – as a good slave will

(And I am, Master, your good slave)

Each stellar instant is just a moment of memory,

but it comes with an electric charge

that hits me in the sexual middle of me, and as soon as I think of it,

I’m back at it again reveling in the lust that rises wildly within,

as it takes me on another orgasmic joyride with you at the center.

Copyright (c) 2014 by Lizbeth Dusseau, all rights reserved

Master in the office...

 This has always been one of my favorite fantasies...

 “Wannabe submissive woman looking for men who excite me… strong, patient, creative, determined men who won’t put up with my BS. I don’t know what I like, but I suspect that I’ll do anything you ask, as long as you’re the right man for the job. I’m not sure about pain, because I’ve never had the experience, so go softly to start and help me feel my way through. But, please, please, force me to obey!”

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. But once this relationship begins, she's determined to see it through...she can't help herself. 

An excerpt from Force Me to Obey
Click this link for information on this title.


His messages were always brief, sometimes incisive, and growing increasing sexual, increasingly graphic.

Find a sizeable, but comfortable dildo to wear in your pussy. Insert it in the morning, fasten it in tight and wear it to the office tomorrow.    

No! No, absolutely not! Was my immediate reply.

But then my resolve crumbled like so much dust. How could I not? How could I dismiss the rumbling in my tummy, the wetness between my thighs, the aroma of sex emitted from my pores as the brilliance of this next assignment seized my imagination? 

My body shuddered in advance, then shuddered more as I combed the nearest sex shop for the right equipment for the task. I found a five-inch dildo and a smooth silk rope, and dwelling on the lure of this assignment, I even tried on a black lace corset in the dressing room, becoming so aroused I wanted to masturbate. But my master’s orders stopped me. I left the shop with bag in hand, dildo and rope inside, leaving the corset lying on the dressing room floor.

I couldn’t imagine wearing the weighty piece inside me all day, but I would. For him, if not for me.                                                                                            ***

It had been three days since my last orgasm. My body was raw, exploding every hour in reminder of the pleasure denied me. But I was true to my word, too hooked on my master’s game to disobey an order.

I left my apartment the next morning, attired in a denim skirt, a bright yellow t-shirt and a pair of summer sandals. Standing in front of the mirror, I made certain no one would ever know the secret beneath the skirt, as the heavy weight of the fabric covered any evidence of the ropes and dildo underneath. Afraid the dildo would slip out, I’d bound my groin so tightly that the ropes cut and every move was a reminder of this gross absurdity. Sitting became a dicey situation: some positions were excruciatingly painful, while others, I could hardly tell there was something lodged inside me. Regardless, I never forgot the strain of the ropes wrapping my waist, bisecting my crotch and tied off behind me. I wouldn’t bend over, I wouldn’t brush up against anyone, and if I could safely hide in my cubicle all day, I would.

For a time I ignored the effect the bondage was having on me. It was an annoyance, not a pleasure. But all that changed during lunch, as I was taking bite of a salad, sitting primly as if the dildo was an anchor keeping me in place when my computer pinged, alerting me to a newly received message.

Think about what you’re doing, Skye. And think about why.

More orders, these were simple ones, and I let my mind drift to thoughts of him… Niven, Lockhart, McNary, and Lloyd, the strange composite of the four gentlemen in the office and everything else I imagined the man to be. Of course, I could be way off base and my email master was none of these men, perhaps someone much less attractive, much more mundane, much more approachable, much less exciting than I hoped for. I let my imagination drift away, and soon the effect of the dildo and ropes 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.

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.

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 groin, 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.

The ropes remained in place and the dildo in my pussy until the end of my workday. There was not another word from my master in that time; I suppose he believed he’d said enough. At home that night, I washed the dildo and rope and placed them in a silk bag in the bottom of my lingerie drawer, there to wait for other orders, another time. There to haunt me, I suppose.

Copyright ©2005 Lizbeth Dusseau, all rights reserved. May not be used without permission.