Chronicles of Raan

Chapter 3: The Final Examination


After the years of training, It was finally here, my last test.

I’d taken all my written examinations over the course of the last two weeks. Practical exams – dance, music, massage, posture, vaginal control; oral ability; anal ability, pain tolerance and response; those were all thankfully over as well. I knew I’d passed them all; if I’d failed an examination, the testing would have stopped immediately.

It was time for the final exam – the unknown factor. All my trainers over six years would have conferred to create this test. Any unaddressed weakness they saw in me would be tested. This exam was a wild card.

As I waited outside the examination chamber, I tried hard to ease my nervous tension. This was it; if I passed here; everything I’d worked for the last six years would be realized. If I failed…

I didn’t want to think about what would happen if I failed.

“Leila.” The door to the examination chamber opened, my Head Trainer came out. “Come on in…” she said. There was thinly veiled tension in her voice. In a way, this was just as important to my Head Trainer. For six years, she’d guided me through this program. Now, she would find out if she’d been successful in training me.

As it had been for all my practical examinations; the examination chamber was dimly let; torches flickering in their brackets; a subtle menace in the air. The room was warm; perhaps uncomfortably so. I felt sweat sheen on my skin. In honesty though, that might have just been from nerves.

I walked in, bowed low in the direction of the examiners. I didn’t know them; they weren’t any of our usual trainers. For the last two weeks, they’d sat quietly, their faces hidden under their cowls, never speaking, always just watching.

They made me afraid.

“Leila.” My Head Trainer spoke. Within the chamber, in the presence of the examiners, her nervousness seemed to fall away. She had found her inner calm. “This will be your final examination.”

“Hassan will be your trainer today.”

I strove mightily to keep the dismay from my face. I’d had Hassan’s cock in me many times since that first night; it was unavoidable, he was one of our trainers. But that was always in a class setting, never alone, and it was easy then to keep my emotions even and controlled. This would be different. The warmth in the examination chamber echoed the warmth in his quarters that night, so many years ago.

The drumbeats started playing in my head.

“Focus, Leila,” I told myself. There was steel in my voice. I’d prepared for this. This was a final, cruel twist of the trainers, elegant and precise; but I would not be overwhelmed; I would not fail.

“Move to the centre of the room.” This was Hassan’s voice. I could never hear his voice without remembering the story of the virgins in Mah’reb; without remembering the skill of his touch as he brought my body to orgasm repeatedly. I could never hear his voice without remembering the drumbeats; a sound that would always be synonymous with passion.

I mutely obeyed, bowing before him as I’d been trained. Every nerve in my body was on fire; but I was outwardly calm; graceful.

This is what I had been trained for. This is what I was meant to do.

Hassan stretched out a foot. I dropped to my knees with grace; bent at my waist, kissed his boot, keeping my back arched gracefully, my ass in the air. I was an object of pleasure; every move of my body was designed with that end in mind. I was especially careful to keep my posture impeccable. I’d struggled with posture during my training; I would be graded harshly if my posture was not perfect.

“Rise.” His voice was not harsh; it was just implacable. The voice of someone who was used to being obeyed without question.

I obeyed silently. I kept my eyes lowered. Pleasure slaves did not make eye contact in the bedchamber. There, they were the property of their contract holder; trained to care about only the pleasure of their contract holder.

“Keep your arms clasped behind your back, until I tell you otherwise.”

I did as I was told.

Hassan walked around me slowly. I could feel his eyes on me, surveying me, searching for weaknesses to exploit in this examination. I fought to keep my eyes submissively lowered; to keep my breathing even, and to keep my body still.

The tension in the room built. I’d forgotten the presence of the examiners; forgotten about my Head Trainer. The world narrowed. It was just Hassan and me, and I would make him proud.

“Disrobe.”

I was wearing my uniform – brown column of fabric, red sash. I removed these; working to remove them with allure. I was a pleasure slave; in disrobing, my purpose was to increase the longing in my contract holder. I stepped out of my column with grace; still keeping my eyes lowered. I could feel Hassan take my clothes from me; put them aside.

I stood before the man to whom I had given the gift of my virginity; I was naked.

Drumbeats, pounding, pounding in my head. Fever rising in my blood.

“Bend over; wrap your arms around this pillar.” Hassan gestured to the steel pillar at the centre of the room.

I moved into position obediently; again, bending at my waist; keeping my stomach sucked in, my ass perfectly outward. My arms came out, clasped the pillar for support. I had a suspicion I was going to get flogged, and I would need the pillar for balance.

Hassan moved to stand next to me, his crotch at my hips. His hands caressed my ass; kneading the cheeks, pinching them, stroking them. I strove to keep my breathing even. Then, two quick smacks on my right buttock. Not too hard; not yet.

“Such perfect buttocks, sweet Leila…”

I flushed at his compliment, at the caress in his voice, but stayed still.

He moved his left arm; it now clasped me around my waist. I was cupped between his crotch on one side and his arm on the other.

It was an intimate position, I could feel Hassan’s cock react to my body’s touch. For the first time since I entered the chamber, I could feel flickers of arousal run through me.


Focus. You are a pleasure slave. The pleasure of your contract holder is of primary importance. Your pleasure is secondary.

His right hand rose, came down on my ass. The stroke was hard; but well within my capability to manage. I let the pain flow through me; I stayed still.

His hand rose again, came down on my ass again. This stroke was harder; hard enough to jolt me forward. I felt my hip move against his crotch, as I lurched; I felt his cock react to that movement. I bit my lip, as the flames of arousal built.

Again and again, he spanked me; again and again, I moved involuntarily against his crotch; the flames of lust building higher and higher, as my body reacted to the dim room; to the feel of his hand on my waist, steadying me; to the firm spanks of his capable hand.

The ringing sound of the spank; and then, his hand stroking the reddened skin.

If I orgasmed now, I would fail.

I took a deep breath, strove for calm; mentally chanting the chant for peace. The trainers were counting on me reacting this way to Hassan; they were counting on me to fail. I would not fail.

His hand rained blows down on my ass; I held as still as I could. I could feel my skin redden; warmth rushing to the surface, as I let the pain flow through me. I sought the place of calm inside me.

Now his hand was on my upper back; his fingernails lightly scratching my skin. Instant heat rushed through me, almost causing me to stagger. I held still, but only just. The gesture had been unbelievably erotic. I bit my lip.

Steady yourself, Leila.

I restarted the chant for peace again in my head.

“Straighten; turn around; face me; hands behind your back.” Hassan’s voice was level. No trace of arousal in his voice. I wished I had his control.

I faced Hassan, my eyes still lowered. I ached to look into his eyes; to see if he was aroused by this as I was. But this examination was the culmination of everything I had worked toward the last six years, and I kept my gaze to the floor.

Hassan touched my breasts, softly. I wanted to bite my lips, but my face was now visible to the examiners, and I kept my gaze as even as I could. He touched my breasts again, this time, an arm snaking around my back to pull me into his body. His hands jiggled my breasts; pulled my nipples. I struggled to keep my posture unchanged and to keep my breathing level; but tendrils of pleasure were curling around my body now.

I realized as I struggled to hold still that there were two main tests here; one was being able to keep my feelings for Hassan from interfering with my performance. The other was something I’d struggled with all along in training; I hated keeping still.

As the realization of what I was being tested on dawned on me, I redoubled my efforts. Yet again, I restarted the chant for peace in my head; strove to find the place of calm in me. The examiners were devious; they had found my two main weaknesses. This test would not be easy.

It was about to get a lot harder.

“Look at me, Leila.” The voice was mild. My breath caught with shock. “No,” I screamed inwardly. I couldn’t do this; couldn’t look into Hassan’s eyes. Too much of what I’d kept under control the last six years would be revealed.

I obeyed; I brought my eyes up; gazed into his eyes. I didn’t bother hiding my arousal; if my arousal was going to cause me to fail my examination, I would fail the instant Hassan touched my dripping p-ssy. But I thought I was going to be okay; a pleasure slave pleased their contract holder by exhibiting arousal. My arousal should be permissible.

His eyes were expressionless.

He’s just doing his job, Leila.

As that cruel thought struck me, my heart broke on the inside. “Not now,” I told myself fiercely. I struggled to focus on the examination.

He had moved to my front; my hands were still clasped behind my back. His hands were again on my nipples; pinching them, now hard enough so it was slightly painful. I fought to keep my gaze on his; to be unwavering in my focus.

He moved away, still expressionless, and then, he reappeared in front of me. This time, he held, in his hands, a many-tailed red suede flogger.

Red, to match the red sky of Raan. Red for pain.

“Hold on to the chains,” Hassan ordered. He gestured to two chains that hung above the steel pillar. I obeyed, grabbing the chains, my arms in the air, giving him free access to my body.

“I crave silence from you, sweet Leila, as you are flogged…” his voice was gentle, contemplative. The gentleness was unexpected; almost my undoing. I struggled to keep my focus on the examination; on ensuring my posture was perfect, my breasts arched outward; my stomach clenched taut. My eyes were still on Hassan’s, as I’d been ordered.

I couldn’t hide the longing in my eyes as I looked at him.

Drumbeats, pounding, pounding in my head. Fever rising in my blood.

The first stroke of the flogger struck just below my breasts; the second struck at my upper thighs. Then my midriff again; and then my thighs.

The fifth stroke struck my breasts; sweet fire on my skin. Arousal blazed in my gaze as I looked at Hassan. He smiled at me, with warmth and pleasure in his gaze. I flushed; almost lowered my gaze in embarrassment.

Inside, my heart was singing in joy. I had pleased him.

The strokes rained down like fire on my already-fevered skin. Thighs, midriff, breasts; I was ablaze in lust and longing; I craved the feel of Hassan’s body pressed down on mine.

Steady yourself, Leila.

My legs had been parted, and now, Hassan flicked the flogger at my p-ssy lips, causing me to jump slightly. I quickly stilled.

His wrists flicked again, and again, and the flogger lashed my wet p-ssy. Waves of pain and pleasure cascaded all over me; the arousal was building dangerously high; if he kept this up, I would not be able to keep from exploding in orgasm.

The gods have mercy; he was not unduly cruel. He moved back to flogging my thighs. I sighed inwardly in thanks.

“Turn around; hold on to the chains.”

I turned my back to him; stuck out my ass in invitation. I could hear him chuckle, and the flogger strokes started again, raining down sweet fire on my ass and back.

As he’d asked me, I kept quiet, letting the pain cascade through me. My p-ssy was dripping as the tails of the flogger found my body, raising small lines of fire on my ass, lines that served as kindling for the blaze roaring inside of me.

Drumbeats, pounding, pounding in my head. Fever rising dangerously in my blood.

The flogger stopped. I held still. Hassan moved away, giving me a moment to try to calm myself. I restarted the chant for peace once again in my mind.

***

When Hassan returned, he was holding a small stool in his hand. He placed the stool in front of the pillar. “Sit,” he said. I sat as he bade, my back a few inches from the pillar. He pushed me back slightly; I was now leaning back slightly, with my shoulders touching the pillar.

“Good. Hold that position; keep your legs parted.” His voice was still warm; I could not resist that voice. I needed harshness in this test, so that my training would automatically come to the fore; warmth and gentleness from Hassan would be the undoing of me. I struggled for focus, again. My mind swayed back to that time in his chambers, so long ago, when he took my offered virginity, and took so much more.

He’d captured a bit of my heart that day. I thought I’d taken it back in the intervening years, but now, as he moved towards me with a blindfold in his hands, I realized how wrong I’d been.

His hands brushed my cheek as he tied the blindfold on, and my breath caught sharply. Oh, I was all kinds of a fool, for not realizing how much power he had over me. The trainers, with their astute and practiced eyes saw what I’d ignored for so many years; the yearning for Hassan that I tried to bury; my longing for the feel of him. And all of that was here, in front of me now, and I struggled to keep my mind on the examination; to tuck these feelings aside for later reflection.


“Open your mouth.”

I complied instantly. None of the turmoil roiling through me was visible on the outside; my body was poised, my breathing as level as I could make it. Inside though, I was a seething mass of confusion.

Hassan placed something in my mouth. I ran my tongue on it experimentally. A candle. I bit my lip ever so slightly; I knew what was coming.

The candle was lit; the way I was positioned, little drops of wax would drip down on my breasts and midriff, and I would need to keep still through this ordeal. Evil, twisted genius.

Little drops of fire started raining down from the melting candle, falling on my midriff. I stifled my moans; instead, I opened my mind fully, and let the pain flow through me. I’d trained for this; the only way past this ordeal was to fully embrace it.

The pain ran through my body; I opened my legs wider. I would please Hassan with my compliance.

A very gentle finger on my p-ssy; checking for signs of arousal. I was dripping wet; there was no concealment. The flush rose on my skin, as I heard Hassan’s warm, pleased chuckle.

Drumbeats, pounding, pounding in my head.

Now, Hassan was taking hold of my arms; positioning my palms flat, placing something on them.

He moved again, and something was placed on my thighs as well.

“These are candles, Leila,” he said in explanation. “They are in shallow containers, they will not burn you if you keep very still.”

Evil, twisted genius. My body would shudder involuntarily when the wax hit my midriffs and breasts; the lurch in my body would cause the wax on my palms and thighs to spill over. The only way forward was to keep very, very still.

He wasn’t done. I could hear him move towards me once again, feel a clamp grip one of my p-ssy lips, and then the other. Pain coursed through my body, as I held very, very still.

Hassan tugged gently at the chain connecting the clamps, set it swinging. Then, he attached a weight to the chain.

I winced in pain. My p-ssy was throbbing, in pain and need and longing. The flames of the candles were warm on my palms and thighs, and the candle in my mouth dribbled a steady stream of wax onto my body.

I could feel Hassan retreat. Now, it was just me, and I could feel the eyes of the examiners on me as I was faced with my final test.

Once again, I found the beginning of the chant for peace, and started chanting it silently in my mind, as I retreated to my centre of being; that inviolable place within me that was mine alone to command.

Minutes passed in utter silence; broken only by the occasional crackle of the torches on the wall. The candle in my mouth burned shorter; now the wax was falling on my tender, whipped breasts. But I felt the pain through a haze; I had found my centre of being, and I was finally in utter control of myself.

Time lost its meaning as the wax rained down on me.

Finally, I could feel Hassan move again in front of me, and this, like nothing else, caused my control to waver. He removed the candle from my mouth; then removed the candles from my thighs and palms. Loosened the clamps from my p-ssy lips, and removed them too. His fingers caressed my face as the blindfold was undone.

I stilled. What was next?

Hassan turned towards the examiners in silence. An unspoken question, an unvoiced answer.

“Thank you, Leila.” His voice was flat. “You are dismissed. You will await the results of your examination in your quarters.”

Oh. This was different. Usually, I found out right away that I had passed. Had I failed? My heart was pounding suddenly in my chest; as I fought to control my nerves. I bowed the correct bow to Hassan; to my Head Trainer, who had watched the entire examination from a quiet corner; to the hooded examiners, who still caused fear in me.

I retreated to my chambers.

***

The wait was maddening. I was alone; no one came to talk to me. I clothed myself, grazing the wax off my midriff and breasts before I robed. Then, I sat on my cot; gazed into space. I dared not think of Hassan at this moment; I wasn’t done; I could be called back for further examination; I needed to hold myself together; to keep myself entirely in the moment.

My fingers were clutching the edges of my blanket nervously. I forced my hands into relaxation; studied my palms instead. I had held fairly still during the test with the candles; there were no burns on my palms or my thighs. Faint hope that I had done enough to pass.

A knock at my door, and the door was swung open. A woman, robed entirely in black, her face hidden by a cowl. One of the examiners. I felt nervousness claw at me, and under that nervousness, fear.

I had swung into an automatic bow, but her voice stilled me.

“Be still, child.” The merest rasp.

She lowered her cowl, and the fear rose in a roaring tidal wave in me. The Mother Superior; head of the Witch Council of Raan. The Witches were whispered about on the world of Raan; and I had heard the whispered fragments my entire life. I struggled to obey her order; to hold still.

Every warning bell in my mind was ringing; every muscle in my body tensed to flee.

She had not moved as I tensed; but as I fought for control, she moved into my chambers. An unknown look flickered in her eyes – was it pity? Compassion? I could not tell.

“You have a difficult road ahead, child.” Her voice was still a rasp, but oddly hypnotic. “And I cannot predict how it will turn out, my powers do not permit me to see the future…”

She moved towards me, her hands raised. Her palms rested on either side of my forehead. “Learn now, child, what we do and why…” she muttered, as my mind tore at the images she sent to me; the onslaught causing me to sink to my knees. She didn’t break contact; understanding rained down, and I thought my brain might break under the weight of everything she was sending me...

And then, she was done. “Sleep now, child,” she said, her voice soothing. “Let your mind heal in your sleep. When you wake, you will have no memory of our encounter…”

She left, I sank on the bed and fell into a deep, troubled sleep.

***

Red light was streaming in through the window when I woke; I dragged myself to the bathhouse; longing for a good soak.

My Head Trainer was in my quarters when I returned, quivering in impatience.

“Sorry,” I apologized to her. “I didn’t realize I’d be needed.”

“No matter…” she waved aside my apology. “Change your robes, come with me.” She pointed to a set of robes on the bed. A set of red robes. Red. Hope rose in me as I gazed at my Head Trainer in shock and wonderment.

Her smile grew on her face, and she inclined her head in response to the question I didn’t have the courage to ask. “The newest pleasure slave of Argentia. Congratulations.”

I could feel my smile break out on my face; my body was shaking in relief. For the first time, I drew my Head Trainer in a hug; breaking all protocol. “Thank you…” I whispered. She had worked unceasingly the last six years to make me the best I could be; I owed her everything.

She looked moved by my demonstration of affection; but then, she straightened, and her implacable mask was back. “Leila, I will whip you if you aren’t dressed this instant…” But I knew her well, and this was only an idle threat.

But I still obeyed with haste; I would not have her unhappy with me today. I smiled as I obeyed; I could not keep the smile back; not this day.

We were back to the examination chamber from yesterday. I followed my Head Trainer’s gesture; entered the centre of the room. The hooded examiners were at their usual spot in the room. I bowed deep in their direction.


I felt no fear. Interesting.

My Head Trainer followed me, also bowed in the direction of the examiners.

“Leila.” Her voice was solemn. “You have passed every test with flying colours. We are proud at your performance.” The words were sweet balm to my soul.

“Kneel.” I obeyed. One of the examiners moved forward; her voice was a rasp.

“We have watched you the last two weeks, and your performance brings us joy.” Her words were oddly hypnotic. I had the oddest sense that I’d had this exact thought before; a strange memory of pain.

I shook my head. “Focus, Leila,” I scolded myself.

“We award you the highest rank available to a pleasure slave…” A momentary searing pain on my forehead as the tattoo was applied. “Three stars and crescent.”

“Your first auction will be in a week. Be prepared.” The words were a dismissal. I bowed; my head churning at the honour of the tattoo of the three stars; at the thought of my first auction.

***

In the end, there was really only one place I wanted to be that final week, and I would never forgive myself if I didn’t knock on that door.

I stood in front of Hassan’s quarters again, raised my hand. I found it was shaking. I was more nervous than I had been that first time, so long ago. Our paths were forking, perhaps they had already forked.

I knocked.

“I hoped you would come…” Hassan’s voice was even as he opened the door, but there was hunger in his eyes; a blazing heat that kindled a corresponding heat in me.

“If the Bull of Mah’reb provided the greatest pleasure, can a woman seek it again? Will the ritual allow it?” My voice was very soft, hesitant. He moved in front of me; his hands on my upper arms; drawing me into his warmth. He bent forward; kissed me gently, then, with increasing passion.

“Mah’reb was never faced with a woman like you, Leila…” he answered softly. And his hands were on my body, and they proceeded to answer my question in a way his words didn’t.





About the Author

Hello, I’m Tara Crescent. I’ve always fantasized about being a mysterious spy, leading a secret double-life, and now, I find that that’s come true!

Sort of.

By day, I’m a mild-mannered corporate drone in Toronto, but by night, I’m limited only by my imagination; I sit, and I type, and I am a daring writer of BDSM, erotica and romance.

In my spare time, I write of course. I also read, garden, travel, cook, and almost never clean. I just started watching Walking Dead on Netflix (zombie erotica, anyone?), and I’m impatiently awaiting the next episode of Doctor Who. (I would kill for a TARDIS.)

I’ve scribbled bits and pieces all my life, chiefly inspired by what I’m reading, which tends to be mainly science-fiction and fantasy, with a healthy sprinkling of romance and erotica thrown in.

I’m a huge believer in happily-ever-after, but tempered by real life, where happily-ever-after is possible, but takes work. My favorite kind of romance stories are ones that are somewhat believable; I like strong men and women who know what they want out of life, and are driven to get it.

From time to time, I blog about what I’m writing at http://www.taracrescent.com. The blog is also where I post book excerpts; highlight information about upcoming promotions, and so on and so forth. Follow me there to keep up with all the fun!





Books by Tara Crescent



BDSM Romance:

Teaching Maya

The House of Pain



BDSM & Medical Play:

Triage (Doctor Dom Volume 1)

Observation (Doctor Dom Volume 2)



BDSM Fantasy:

Chronicles of Raan





The House of Pain

Text copyright ? 2013 Tara Crescent

Sara White is outwardly a good girl; she follows the rules; works in a professional office; has a boyfriend who treats her with consideration. However, deep inside her, there’s a craving for pain, a desire to be spanked and whipped, to be submissive, to be controlled.

One day, she walks into the House of Pain, a sex store in Toronto that also does shows in the back, where women are whipped and spanked in front of an audience. Transfixed by the idea, she signs up.

Doug Patterson has met Sara at work, but discovers a whole new side of her when he sees her at the House of Pain. He approaches her and suggests Sara become his submissive. Sara is attracted to Doug; but afraid of complication.

Will Sara surrender to Doug, and yield to her desire to be submissive?

Contains BDSM, flogging, anal sex, and much more...

*****

Read on for an excerpt from The House of Pain…

***

“Did you like getting whipped at the House of Pain?” His words pull me back to our conversation.

“Yes.”

“Did you like being tied up?”

“Yes…” I whisper again.

“So, what concerns you?” There’s no impatience in his voice. He’s trying to understand.

“I don’t like the idea of being obedient, submissive.”

“Are you submissive in bed?” he asks bluntly.

I flush. “Sometimes… but I’ve always had a choice; I don’t have to be submissive.” I’m explaining myself badly. I think I’m afraid I’ll lose my ability to choose; that my submission will not be a choice I make; but the expected behaviour from me.

Doug listens as I try to explain this. Finally, he raises a hand, interrupts me.

“As I see it,” he says, “you are trying to run before you can walk. These things, everything you are worried about – the nature of submission, the boundaries of the submission, they are complicated things that every couple negotiates over time.” He takes a sip of his beer, eyes me, continues... “Right now, I think we should be more concerned about the hard rules – things you have no interest in doing in bed; things you definitely want to do, that kind of thing.”

He’s right. Besides, as he said, this can be a one-time thing.

“No blood…” I say. “No permanent damage. No caging.”

“Ok.” We quickly agree on the basics; set me up with a safeword. Red.

“I really have only one rule, Sara…” Doug says. “One that applies to both of us, really. Open, honest communication. If something isn’t fun, say so. I’m pretty sure that we can find enough things that we will both enjoy.”

“Ok,” I say, softly. I am once again a bundle of nerves. I can’t believe I’m actually going to do this.

He senses my nervousness. “Sara, it’ll be fine, I’m not a jerk…” he says wryly. “Look, do you want to do this some other time?”

“No…” I don’t think I’d have the courage to go through this again. Besides, I broke up with Colin because of this dark chasm in me; and here’s my opportunity to explore it a little bit.

“Can I get a glass of wine?” I ask him.

He raises an eyebrow at me. “Liquid courage?” he asks with some amusement. “Red or white?”

“Whatever’s easier,” I say. Doug opens the refrigerator, pulls out a bottle of white wine; pours me a glass. I take a sip; it is light, refreshing; a perfect summer wine. I take another sip.

“Let’s go back to the living room…” he says.

***

In the living room, Doug sits on the couch; pulls me onto his lap. He pulls me close; one hand encircling my waist, the other traces a gentle line down my cheek. He runs a thumb over my lower lip; an incredibly erotic touch that has me shifting restlessly in his lap.

“Want to do this?” he whispers in my ear; catching my earlobe between his teeth; nibbling it lightly. Little tendrils of arousal run through me; replacing the nervousness. I shift in his lap again; I can feel his erection against me, and I bite my lip. His body feels good, really, really good.


I nod. Yes. I want to do this.

He pulls me closer, kisses me. His mouth is initially gentle on mine. I sigh softly. I haven’t been kissed in over five weeks, and I miss it. My mouth parts, slightly, lets him in. That’s the signal Doug’s been waiting for. His lips are suddenly more insistent, his tongue pushes into my parted mouth, dances a delicious duet with mine. His free hand traces idle lines on my bodice.

I moan. Doug’s hands are, in their own way, creating a fire as insistent as the whip. My body tingles in pleasure; lust. I move into him; bring my hands around his head to draw him in, still closer.

“No…” he says softly, pulling away from my mouth for an instant. “Let me set the pace, please…”

Aah. The first demonstration of control. But he doesn’t order me, this is a request; not a command. I nod; I can do this for him. My hands remain at my sides.

He bends his head again, pulls my mouth onto his. He’s nibbling my lower lip now, softly, and the feeling of his teeth on my lip is awakening a deep hunger in me. I moan; shift restlessly.

“Keep still, baby…” he mutters. Again, not an order, but again, I obey.

His hands are now running lightly over my breasts. I want to shrug off the straps of my dress, lower the bodice so that his hands will caress my bared breasts; but I hold still. His fingers are dancing a little waltz on my bared arms; tracing a pathway along my exposed cleavage, running a fiery line along my thighs.

I part my thighs. Doug chuckles… “Keep still, baby…” he says again.

His mouth now is trailing little kisses on my neck. I love being kissed on my neck; it’s my secret erogenous spot, one with a direct line to my p-ssy. I feel the familiar stirrings as he kisses me; the familiar dampness. I bite my lower lip; moan.

The sunlight is streaming in through the windows in his living room. Doug groans. “The dungeon is in the basement…” he says, a little ironic inflection when he says dungeon. “The bedroom is upstairs. Which way, Sara?”

It is tempting to pick the safe path; to gesture towards the bedroom. I don’t do that. Instead I gather up my courage. “Downstairs…” I say quietly.

We walk towards Doug’s dungeon.

***

If you would like to read more of Doug and Sara, pick up their story, The House of Pain.





Teaching Maya

Text copyright ? 2013 Tara Crescent

***The perfect blend of bondage, dominance, submission and tender romance***

Unable to experience arousal or reach orgasm with her first boyfriend, twenty-one year old Maya feels like a freak. In desperation, she hatches a plan to seduce the best-selling author Ryan Clayborn during a two-week vacation, and have him coach her in bed.

Ryan sleeps with many women, but commits to none. He warns Maya that an affair with him would include whips, handcuffs and canes. But Maya is drawn to him as a moth to a flame…

Ryan’s control and dominance takes Maya to new peaks of arousal. But with time ticking on, will this affair end well, or will Maya end up broken all over again?

Read on for an excerpt from Teaching Maya…

***

I'd had a crush on Ryan Clayborn for over ten years. That kiss... it was worth every minute of the wait.

One of his hands was at the back of my head, entwined through my hair, pulling me towards him. His fingers grazed my check, gently outlining the shape of my jaw, and then his fingers were on my lips, tracing their shape, feeling their softness. I moaned softly, daringly sucking his finger into my mouth. And then, his mouth was on mine, hard and insistent, demanding that I yield. My mouth opened, my tongue entwined with his. I gave myself completely, openly, letting my need shine through.

“Inside?” he asked, finally pulling away. There was a noticeable bulge in his pants; I couldn’t tear my eyes away from it. He saw my gaze, and reached out and grabbed my hand, placing it on his hard bulge. I stroked him through the fabric of his pants, my p-ssy dripping as I heard him growl in arousal.

“Inside…” he repeated, his voice hoarse with need.

We went in. I looked around in curiosity.

“It's a friend's place,” he said. “I borrow it from time to time to write in.”

Also to have sex in? I wondered, but didn't comment. The butterflies had reappeared in my stomach.

The inside of the cottage was lovely. There was an open concept kitchen/living space on one side, a king-size bed in the other, and one of the walls was mostly window, which looked out to the ocean.

Ryan drew me towards the bed. “Ready to play, Maya?” he asked. His breathing was steady again, he was back to his usual half-mocking, half-amused composure, but my courage was fortified by his erection, and I boldly reached out and traced the outline of his manhood through his pants.

“I think we're both ready, don't you?” I said softly.

Ryan laughed. “Oh no, no, Maya. We play by my rules here... You wanted a safeword earlier, no? Your safeword will be red. Got it?” His words were serious, but his voice was amused.

“Red.” I repeated.

“Stand still.” Ryan moved to stand in front of me. His right hand reached out, and very softly stroked the side of my left breast. I moaned, and leaned towards him.

He stopped instantly. “Nope. Stand still, Maya. You obey, we continue. Okay?”

Crap. This was going to be hard. I wanted to feel his entire body pressed up against mine. I wanted to kneel and take his cock into my mouth. I wanted to pleasure him and feel him pleasure me. I most definitely did not want to stand still. But stand still I did. His tone had left no room for disobedience.

I nodded.

His hands didn't resume touching my breasts. He instead moved around to my back, and very lightly traced the chain holding the dress together. The ends of the chain were clasped together, and he pulled me very slightly into him in order to unclasp the chain.

“I'm assuming that if I unclasp this, the dress comes undone?” he asked.

I nodded again. My body was screaming in arousal, and I didn't trust myself to speak.

“Cat got your tongue, Maya?” Again, that tone of amusement. “Ah, there it goes.” Clasp undone, the dress fell to my waist. Ryan found the zipper and unzipped the rest of the dress, and guided me out of it.

The dress had been backless, and I had therefore elected to skip wearing a bra. I was clad in the tiniest pair of lacy panties, and nothing else. Goosebumps instantly appeared all over my body, as I fought to resist the temptation to cover my breasts.

“Good girl. Hands at your sides, please.” Ryan's voice was level and low-key, but there was no pretending that that wasn't an order. I did as I was told. He smiled warmly in approval of my obedience. God, that smile! It was no wonder women threw themselves at him. That smile was a drug, addictive and potent. I would do whatever he wanted, as long as he kept smiling at me.

His hands were at the side of my breasts again, stroking very lightly, stoking the fire of my arousal. I was shaking slightly, and fighting the desire to lean into him again. His fingers gradually traced their way to my breasts, now cupping them very slightly, squeezing them gently... it was incredibly erotic. I closed my eyes.

“Nope. Eyes open, please Maya.” His voice was curt. I instantly opened my eyes.

“Sorry,” I muttered.

“You're doing great, Maya.” he said, smiling at me. “Come on...”

***

If you would like to read more of Ryan and Maya, pick up their story, Teaching Maya.