This is WIPItUp, the blog hop where authors share excerpts from their works in progress. And please feel free to comment – we authors love feedback.
This week I’m sharing from my story in a BDSM themed anthology, Sensory Limits, which is available for pre-order now. The collection goes on general release next month and my story, Yes or No? will be out as a stand-alone novella in October. And check out this gorgeous cover art by the wonderful Emmy at Totally Bound.
Here’s the blurb for Yes or No?
There’s no harm in just filling in the form, is there? It’s only a bit of harmless escapism, a sexy fantasy. The advert is tempting, though.
A strictly vicarious lover of the BDSM lifestyle, Martha never really means to hit Send. A couple of forays into spanking and a spot of lackluster bondage haven’t quite managed to ignite her curiosity about the dark art of submission, but they haven’t entirely extinguished it, either. It’s there, gnawing away at the back of her mind—a dream of what could be, if only…
Martha craves sensation. She yearns for intensity, for a touch to make her skin tingle and her nerve-endings sizzle, a caress to make her scream and demand her surrender. And that’s the problem. She’s a cautious soul and no pain slut. She’s not about to hand herself over to some ham-fisted Dom and trust to luck again.
So when she learns she is one of the winners who is to be offered the chance to play out the scene from her kinky imaginings to the letter, she can’t believe it. The only condition? The organizers reserve the right to select the Dom, one skilled in the specifics of Martha’s personal fantasy, and the scene must be played out in public.
Yes or No?
And the snippet. Martha is filling in her application form, but obviously has no intention of sending it in…
Martha could rattle off complex legal reports and arguments on autopilot, but fiction was different. It was more…unrestrained, unstructured. Fiction lacked the safety, the certainty, the formulaic clarity of a finely-honed defense. It was messy and free-flowing. It could lead anywhere.
Fiction was dangerous.
She started to write. Soon the response box beneath the advert was filled, but still she tapped at the keys, her words disappearing off the top of the screen. She paused from time to time to revel in the delicious shudders that caused her nude body to tingle and her pussy to dampen. Imagination is a wondrous thing, she mused as she wrote, unable to distinguish between truth and the filthy conjurings of her lively mind and over-active hormones. Perhaps that’s enough.
No. It isn’t.
She wanted the feel of it. Needed that, nothing less. Martha yearned for the reality, the tingle and shiver. She needed to drip with a level of pure arousal that she could not rein in. She continued to write.
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