You guys, it’s Tuesday, dammit, and that’s what I’m sticking to. We’re all going to say it’s Tuesday, and I’m on top of things, and breathing, and it’s ok. Right? Right?! … Anyway, now that Ms. Eden Conner has had this neurotic intro, let’s get to her post before anything more happens on my part >.>
My latest release, Rain on Me, began as a question posed in a writer’s group. Someone asked, “What’s been missing from the novels you’ve read lately?” Although there were some hilarious responses, my answer was ‘weather’. Apparently, it’s always sunny in other authors’ imaginations. Then, the gauntlet was thrown: Write one scene using the missing criteria. The scene I wrote eventually became the second chapter of Rain on Me. The story is written from two, first-person points of view, that of a widowed mailman and practitioner of the Japanese art of sexual bondage, Ray Casey, and a determined, younger, detective, Zinnia Jackson. In the scene I’m sharing today, Zin fears her sister’s impending death, yet she spurns Ray’s attempt to comfort her. And a Dom denied is a Dom determined to show his little sub who’s the boss.
I’d sleep with the devil to nail the source of illegal poker machines pouring into my district. It’s personal between me and those one-armed bandits, but when my captain asked me to go undercover as a sexual submissive to catch our suspect, my gut said “Hell, no, even I can’t tell a lie that big.”
Enter Ray Casey, shibari master, who spent two weeks showing me the world of erotic bondage. I fell hard for Ray, but the outcome of our affair was preordained; duty above all.
When the unthinkable happened, where could I turn when I couldn’t trust my brothers in blue? My instincts lead me back to Ray, but he wants me to submit to something harder than a little BDS&M….
~Zinnia J. Jackson, Det. 1st Grade, South Carolina Law Enforcement Division
Tying, for me, is foreplay.
My ties weren’t elegant tonight. They didn’t have to be, to accomplish my purpose. This little poser thought she’d use sex to hold intimacy at arm’s length?
This is my game. And she was about to learn how well I played it.
“Only the Dom initiates sex,” I explained. “For you to try and manipulate me like that… well, I think perhaps you need to learn who’s in charge here.”
Leaning forward, I pressed my lips to her navel. Feeling under the table for the leg, I lashed the limb to the sturdy taper.
Her eyes were wide when I moved to the other side and repeated the action.
It was such a shame she couldn’t see me pick up the chopsticks.
I knew she felt the pressure when I placed them, one on either side of her inner folds, pointing from head to toe, because she drove her heels against the table and her back bowed.
“It’s the right, and the responsibility, of a Dom to comfort his submissive.”
Her pupils were blown, and it wasn’t lost on me that she didn’t argue. There was such a supple give to her hands, arms, and legs—a lack of fight that spoke volumes. “To refuse to be comforted….”
The twist ties I save from bread loaves were within reach, so in moments, I had the chop sticks bound together, pinching her most tender flesh.
I left her there to retrieve a couple of condoms, a bottle of lube, and a hank of thicker rope.
Returning to the kitchen, I stood by her head, where she could watch me twist the rope into an elongated knot and drop it into one of the condoms. Her tummy hollowed when I lubed the latex. Did the little minx lift her ass to help me seat the knot? Goosebumps appeared on her inner thighs when my hands brushed her skin.
Standing between her splayed thighs, I screwed the knot into place, taking my time, enjoying the sight of her dusky skin against the golden oak table, and eyeing the glistening pink of her slit.
His fingers were slick with lube. They pierced my channel without effort, a forceful thrust he accompanied by dropping his free hand over my eyes.
I sensed his anger, but if I’d wondered, the fierce way he plunged inside me removed any doubt I’d offended him. I had no time to worry about my sin. Every time he pressed into me, his wrist struck the end of the chopsticks. Each rough blow jostled my clit and delivered a searing burst of pleasure. Each retreat left me with vibrating strips of bamboo that seemed to pinch more tightly with each strike. Desire coiled inside me.
He set a hard rhythm.
Just as I grew accustomed to the feeling, he changed direction. Rather than sliding in and out, he curled his fingers and changed his motion to an up-and-down stroke. His fingertips strafed a spot that sent flashes of heat streaking through my veins and his callous force took my breath.
Now, I longed for the closeness I’d spurned outside. Ached to be held, to have my arms free so I could hold him. His scent flooded my senses, overlaid with the smell of sex—my sex.
“This,”—he growled, nearly yanking my ass off the table now—“this is the Dom’s dominion, his temple, his sanctuary, and his rightful place.” He gave his fingers a fierce twist, so I had no doubt he was talking about my channel. “You may neither offer nor withhold sex. Understand?” He renewed his up-and-down thrusting, faster than before.
What I understood was that I was on the verge of coming. “Y-yes,” I panted, an instant before unbearable pleasure suffused me. Streaks of heat sizzled through my veins and I climaxed with such force, I screamed.
“Yes, Sir.” His tone was detached. I ached to see his face. To be denied that ability while he brought such intense pleasure seemed unfair.
I managed to swipe my tongue across my dry lips. “Yes, sir.”
Ray’s hand didn’t cease moving, but he returned to the in-and-out motion. Meaning he slammed into the chopsticks again and again—agonizing, delicious torture. Another orgasm flashed through me, bowing my back. Talons of pleasure pierced me, holding me rigid, while inside, I shook helplessly. Ray kept thrusting, driving into me with such force, the table legs rattled against the floor.
My nipples felt like scorched earth. With every thrust he made inside me, my breasts shook, and in turn, the motion jostled my fingers. That movement tightened the ropes pinching my nipples, sending a sizzle of pleasure through the sensitive peaks. The knot inside my anal canal was pressed between the table and his fingers, adding a decadent layer of sensation as it rolled and twisted inside me.
In short, every erogenous spot was being touched, and all he used were two thick fingers. Recognition of that masculine power gripped me, shoving me over the edge again. Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes, and I shuddered through another orgasm.
My juices smeared my inner thighs and I felt them running down my crack. I’d never felt this kind of pleasure. The orgasms kept coming and coming, flooding me with heat, with wetness, with a white-hot thrill that bordered on pain.
I tried to grip his fingers with my muscles, to still them, but the harder I clamped down on his hand, the more aggressive his thrusts became.
I screamed. I cried. I begged him to stop, and all that did was persuade him to change directions again. There was something so brutal about the up-and-down motion, and yet, the act turned me to mush inside. I couldn’t help but respond to the rough treatment with another burst of wetness. I fought for enough breath to scream out my pleasure. Or beg for mercy.
I crested, fell, crested again, and still he forced his fingers into me. I sensed he bent his head by the warm breath sliding across my belly.
The soft stroke of his tongue warned me before he bit down on my clit. His fingertips dug into that sensitive spot inside me I hadn’t known was there.
Pain sizzled inside the small nub, a sharp but tiny pain, more unexpected than brutal. Bright colors burst behind my eyelids and the incredible pleasure was so intense, I lifted my hips, forcing his face into my mound. I’d never gushed so hard.
Then, my darkness became absolute.
I was vaguely aware when he let the ropes loose. Knew when he pulled the knot free, but I was too dazed to respond. I could barely wrap my arms around his neck when he lifted me, but when he laid me in the bed, I couldn’t let him go. The pounding in my veins gradually slowed to match the languorous rain beating the roof. Distant thunder blended with the strong beat inside Ray’s chest. I was basted in bliss and his cock was hot and hard against my belly.
His lips on my neck felt like a blessing, and forgiveness.
He slid out of the bed. I heard the water run in the bathroom. He brought back a cloth. Where was my shame? I let him pry my legs open and marveled at his gentle touch with the cloth, but the soft swipes made me shudder and wrung another tiny orgasm from me.
“I’m sorry.” I couldn’t stop crying. I thought he’d take me, roll me to my back and fuck me, but as soon as he came back to bed, his breathing slowed and his hard-on gradually subsided. My last thought before I drifted off was that he’d given me pleasure and yet taken nothing.
The realization took more than I’d meant to give.
I’m giving away one e-copy of Rain on Me. To be entered in the contest, all you need do is post your e-mail address and answer the same question that spawned this story: What’s been missing from the novels you’ve read lately? I’ll e-mail the winner to ask their preference of either Kindle or ePub format. (Please note: I do not offer the .pdf format.)
Thanks for reading!
About this author
Eden Connor graduated from Converse College with a degree in Psychology so long ago, her sheepskin is chiseled in stone. She’s been a graphic artist, a bridal photographer and an antique restorer. Since the death of her true love, she raised two children to adulthood and now has the time to return to writing. She writes primarily contemporary erotic romances, the odd bit of erotica and an occasional paranormal piece. Most of her writing is set where she lives, in South Carolina, so expect the handsome stranger to come equipped with a slow drawl. Addicted to hazelnut creamer, baseball and cranberry glass, she likes the music of Motown and when not writing about adults behaving badly, she takes a stab at the occasional needlepoint canvas.
Yay giveaway! Yay exclusive excerpt! What’d you think?