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[Siren Everlasting Classic: Erotic Consensual BDSM Romance, public exhibition, flogging, forced-seduction role play, sex toys, HEA]
Natasha Woolf’s delinquent teen son is giving her nothing but headaches. Enter Ari Braverman, politician turned powerful food critic, and she welcomes the help. Ari is a charismatic, cultured silver fox in an expensive business suit, and Natasha wants to restore order to the chaos that has become of her life. Ari’s brand of domination equals security and safety for her.
After a nasty breakup in Washington, D.C., Ari hesitates to accept a new submissive. But he discovers the spitfire restaurant owner has a feisty side that refuses to offer total surrender, and he’s surprised that her rebel play turns him on.
When his old girlfriend Kelly pops up begging to reconcile, Ari sends the ex-sub packing. Kelly worms her way into the graces of politicos supporting his Congressional bid, with deadly intentions for the sub who has taken her place. Natasha must fight tooth and nail to prove she is…The Good Switch.
http://www.bookstrand.com/the-good-switch
STORY EXCERPT
So she talked with
the president of the food bank for a while, in between mingling with
other guests, patrons, and entertainers. She was so vastly irritated
when she was needed in the kitchen that she told Carlos to keep an eye
out for Ari Braverman, “the lawyer from the other day.” She was aware
she was practically ripping her sous chef’s head off for asking what was
actually an important question about the rabbit. They were heatedly
discussing how to properly fry the sage leaves when the harried Carlos
stuck his head into the kitchen and motioned impatiently for her.
Ari.
Chaos. I don’t need any more chaos in my life.
“Okay,” Natasha told
the sous chef, suddenly eager to get out of there. “Frying it like that
is perfect. Good job.” And just like that, she washed her hands of the
entire sage issue and sped back to the dining room. She was temporarily
waylaid by a group of Jane Dough’s wine tasting club members, but she
cut it short and sped on. Then some moron from City Hall wanted to
yammer at her about the wine selection. She tried to gently tell him to
see her sommelier. She couldn’t be expected to know everything about
everything, after all.
Then she saw Ari out
of the corner of her eye. Who could miss that exquisitely tailored
suit, the cultured tilt of his head, the broad, squared shoulders? Even
in a room where about half of the men wore suits, Ari stood out as
though a spotlight shone on him. Maybe it was just Natasha’s unrequited
feelings for him, but she literally stumbled on her words in
mid-sentence.
“My sommelier David selected some kosher wines—uh.” Did I just say “uh”? Am I standing here frozen like a statue? Yes, Bob Thornton is staring oddly at me. Her heart racing, her palms sweating, Natasha looked back at Bob but could only muster a ridiculous grimace.
“Kosher wines?” said Bob. “Well, that sounds just dandy.”
It was not just
Natasha’s imagination that Mr. Braverman’s gaze was fixated on her, too.
It was as though everyone around them milling and chattering turned to
soft focus, fading into the fringes of her awareness. Ari, pausing with a
wine glass in his hand, became sharper. The easygoing smile seemed to
melt just for her, and even Bob Thornton from Public Works seemed to
fall through a trap door in the floor.
“Excuse me,” Natasha said vaguely, much too quietly to be heard, and rudely walked toward Ari.
Yes, he was
welcoming her with that wide, gleaming smile. He had a dignified
elegance, and Natasha wasn’t even ashamed in the slightest that she’d
fantasized about sitting on his face. It was true—Ari had that “just
fucked” look that softened his well-groomed features, as though Natasha
were the only person in the room he wanted to speak with.
As though she were of the utmost importance, the pinnacle of all his interest, the—
Oh, dear God. Those people he’s with. I know them. They’re from The Sandbox.
Abruptly, the smile
fell from Natasha’s face. Unbidden, her body made a hard right down
another aisle of tables. Her blurry, stinging eyes saw a table full of
people congratulating her on something or other, but she just smiled and
waved. Smile and wave, and keep walking to your office.
She successfully
passed the table of happy people, but near the hostess stand again Moe
intercepted her. “Say, Tasha, hate to bother you, but can you find out
when they’re going to be able to start serving the green bean salad? I
think people are getting hungry and they sure are hitting up the wine
awful fast…”
Moe said some more stuff that sounded like blah blah blah
while Natasha tried to breathe. The people milling around Ari were
clearly friends or at least acquaintances of his. The one tall platinum
blonde woman who had her hand on Ari’s shoulder was even collared, as
Natasha had been collared to Emmanuel. Natasha knew the women and the
two dominant men as being patrons of The Sandbox because they often
discussed it freely, as though it were some kind of art association or
community theater. The Sandbox was a local bondage club where—well,
Natasha didn’t know much about it, having never dared to venture there,
being a responsible businessperson and all that. Was that woman collared to Ari?
ADULT EXCERPT
She stammered, “You’ve never…brought anyone here?”
“Never,” was all
he’d say, and he reached behind a ceramic pot that sat on top of the low
wall. “The Sandbox people told me where to get these cuffs and
other…things.”
Nipple clamps.
Natasha was in her element with that implement, and she looked down
with interest as Ari slid the tweezer clamps onto her nipples with
surgical precision. His gaze flickered back and forth from her face to
her nipple, then back to her face. No doubt he was gauging her reaction
to the varying tension of the clamps. She writhed, gritting her teeth
and arching her neck, and he must have liked what he saw, for he left
the clamps tight.
He sat back between
her thighs to regard her with amusement. She snarled through her
clenched teeth, snorting and bucking like a caged feline. “Do it, you bastard,” she seethed, like an actress in an exorcism movie.
Ari drew himself up.
“Whoa, whoa! Who holds all the cards around here, young missy? I don’t
think you’re in any position to issue orders. This deserves punishment.”
Magically, from behind the same pot Ari revealed a pair of scissors,
and with one snip he easily did away with the strip of panty shielding
her pussy.
He admired the view
while she undulated her spine mightily, like the swells of a stormy
ocean. She just wanted him to touch her! Make me come, you bastard! Fuck me in the mouth or pussy! Just do something! Stop teasing me!
But she knew this was part of clit torture, and she shouldn’t have been
surprised when he swished several fingers quickly over her extended,
swollen clit. Of course she jumped about a foot in the air and had to
clench her jaw so tightly it hurt. Again and again he swiped his
fingers, just enough to set her utterly on edge.
She could have
safeworded, of course. She could have even crawled up the side of the
wall and leaped over it. She could have brought her bound hands around
her front and diddled herself into ecstasy. But this was part of the
game, remaining at his beck and call, and Natasha loved it. Every time
he brushed the flats of his fingers across her throbbing clitoris she
cried out involuntarily and writhed even more furiously. She was trying
to kiss the sky with her cunt, shaking and shimmying every time he so
much as brushed his hand anywhere near her pussy. Yet he kept it soft
enough to guarantee she’d never be able to come.
She shouted through her clenched teeth. “Ari...”
Her warning tone did nothing to speed up his toying with her. Her
pussy’s inner walls clutched at nothing hollowly, and her helplessness
only heightened the anticipation. Would he turn her over his knee, like
he had in her office? Would he lightly stroke her cunt, or would he
choose the more severe option?
“You’ve got a lovely pussy,” he said now. He smiled, so relaxed, while she just wanted to scream
and tear his—or her own—hair out! He gave her clit three or four
serious, sensuous strokes of the thumb. Ten more of those and she
would’ve been crashing into the heavens with a thunderous orgasm. But
Ari seemed to know this. Even more casually now, he removed his tie
slowly. “I think I came up with the right word for you. Firecracker. I
can just tell that when I allow you to come you’ll just explode. You’re
like a live wire, just crackling with electricity. You love being played
with, don’t you?”
Natasha did explode then. “Ari! Will you hurry the fuck up?” She knew this would gain her more punishment, but it would probably be the sort she liked.
She was right. Again
he frowned, twining his necktie around his knuckles. He tensed the silk
between his hands, uncaring if he was ruining the Italian material.
“You’re just a fresh, saucy little lady, aren’t you? I’m going to have
to do something about that mouth on you.” And with one fluid motion, he
kneeled over Natasha and whipped the tie around the back of her skull. A
few simple knots and she was completely gagged. She whinnied like a
horse and thrashed her head back and forth, but he had expertly
prevented her from notifying his neighbors of their games.
Once more he reached behind the pot and withdrew what looked like a little riding crop. Aha.
She was familiar with this item, too. It was a “flapper,” a combination
of a flogger and a crop, with four leather falls that could be teased
lightly or thwacked. Natasha fell silent and stopped writhing with
anticipation of what might come next. She panted through her nostrils,
her eyes burning.
There it was—the
arrogant, smoldering flash in his eyes. She’d known it was there from
the stories she’d heard about the trauma room, the brass balls, the
ambitious barracuda. He claimed he’d mellowed out, but she didn’t think
anyone ever lost that drive, that determination, that quest for power.
His eyes narrowed and he slapped her labia with the flapper. It made a
sharp crack there in the still courtyard air.
“You need to remember your place, woman.” Thwack. Again and again he slapped her, in such a precise way that every slap got her juices flowing even more. Smack.
Not too hard, and definitely not too soft, Ari flogged her pussy in
exactly the right manner. Every smack brought her higher and higher up
the cliff. He continued the teasing, the torture he’d started with his
fingers, only now he upped the ante. He smacked her pussy loudly and now
he reached out and diddled her constrained nipple. That was when she
screamed.
--
The Substantial Gift, January 2014
The Good Switch, December 2013
Her Master's Choice, November 2013
Three For All, October 2013
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