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21 Sins

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21 Sins by Lizbeth Dusseau

Girls in her position give up their names and their lives... they're sold as lots. This story is about Lot 21...

The former Melinda duBois is brought to the State Detention Center upon the death of her 'guardian' her owner, lover and sexual master, Samuel Janes. Will she be reassigned - sold to another guardian in a lifetime contract of indentured servitude? Or will her counselor, Sydney Wingate, choose to release her to a mainstream life that she knows nothing about.

'Service contracts' to guardian overseers were once meant to alleviate a problem with prison overcrowding, but have become a way to coerce young females into contractual service arrangements - another kind of prostitution. Sydney despises the devious twist that makes the sexual usage of women virtually institutionalized by law. And yet, as she interviews her client, Lot 21, in the dank burrows of the ominous Transfer Sector, she becomes intrigued, even aroused, by the curious naked girl who has been ordered to seek her counsel. The girl's wild and stunning tales of sexual debauchery and sadomasochistic sex lure Sydney into this despised world, and to the Underground Market for research purposes. And when her boyfriend takes her to this 'meat market' a strange transformation occurs. While they play-act the roles of Master and slave, Sydney discovers the reason why this life might be appealing and the best place for a young innocent like Melinda duBois. The deeper Sydney delves into this exhilarating darkness, the more she fears that her mission of mercy to save the dutiful Lot 21 will only delay the inevitable transfer of her ownership to the charming, wily sadist who intends to buy her.

This story of sadism and masochistic longing explores the eroticism of humiliation, bondage, discipline, piercing, anal fisting, and graphic sex - including oral, anal, girl/girl sex, and multiple partners... "a breathtaking Bdsm masterpiece!" Wm Sage


“My beautiful girl,” he whispers in her ear. She clings to the tall, decaying trunk of a dead aspen, where once in a long ago summer, small green leaves quaked, shivering in the airy mountain breeze. She shivers in a similar way, a tremor that starts at the top of her mop-like hair and travels through her firm, naked flesh, becoming more than subtle as it passes through her rounded bare behind. The flesh there is opulent; it’s natural color a pearly hue, sometimes a blush of pink, occasionally bluish when she shivers from the cold. At this moment, however, the color of that rounded, quaking ass has deepened to an angry red. She has been beaten. Even now, as he whispers in her ear as tenderly as a lover would, she feels the hot fire of punishment on her skin. It warms her body and will eventually soothe her spirit in the same way his simple words soothe her.
She sighs, expelling a cleansing breath of air as the pain in her body begins to dwindle.
“Our days are numbered, just a handful remain,” he tells her. “We have to relish every second.”
“No, sir, you’ll not go.”
“I have no choice, my darling.”
“But without you…” she starts, her voice full of urgency.
“Hush,” he stops her. “Without me you’ll remain who you are, guided by those who come after me. They will take you on a different journey, but they will love you, too.”
“How can you say that, when you don’t know?” she looks up pleadingly, whispering her objection. “When you won’t be here?” Tears form in the corner of her eyes, threateningly—no different from any other day for the last six months of his illness.
“No crying, love,” he softly reprimands. “The end will be on us quickly enough.” She sees the pain in his eyes and how the bright bold color of dominion fades a little more each day. He walks with a cane now, though he still has the fresh exterior of a young and robust man. And for the moment he is with her, feeling the wildness of her sexual spirit unleashed by his brutal whip, he is more alive than in his grave.
“The day will come when my tears won’t stop,” she says, with a degree of haughty self-assurance she rarely shows—though it is essential to her make-up, essential for the life she leads. Will, determination and self-control are replete in her complicated personality, just as her desire to suffer, to surrender, to please, and to be this man’s humble slave forever have defined her.
Sadly, there will be no ‘forever’ for these two.
When he touches her flaming ass with the palm of his hand, the paradox she lives and breathes each day nags at her again. Her master is cruel, a proud sadist in love with the act of beating her, turning her skin into ribbons of red wounds, and watching her writhe under the weight of his floggers and the sting of his whips. Even the way he binds her causes pain, as her wrists are wrapped with thick sisal, which cuts into her tender skin the more she struggles at the whipping post. The cruel elements of nature collide with her this day, as a sharp wind castigates her tormented flesh. She has no idea which sensation to feel as so many batter her body.
Now that the whipping has ended, the paradox begins in earnest. Her lover, her master, discards his pompous cruelty in favor of genteel kindness. He kisses her ear, massages her wounded ass, and takes the steamy heat pouring from her crotch and turns it into a climactic surge of orgasmic bliss. She whimpers as she begins to come on his loving hand. She caws and mews. Her body bucks against the post, scratching her pure white breasts on the splintered wood. Yet, she doesn’t care anymore with this climax crashing through her like an angry tiger crashing through the jungle. Her head thrashes back and forth and her lips part as her cries fly aloft like seagulls into the air. Her eyes have brightened into an eerie glow. Then for several seconds, they roll back into their sockets as the ecstasy takes her deeper. Her master’s hand, lodged purposefully between her legs, is flooded by her wetness, bathed in her juices. He holds his fingers to her lips and makes her lick them clean. She cannot resist his touch, disobey or disappoint him.
He’s pleased. “Such a good girl you are. Such a survivor.”
He talks this way a lot these days… how she is a survivor of her life and every fate that has tried to slap her down. Fate brought her to him. Now fate will take him away from her, but she will remain intact, able to go on being the woman she has become. He is preparing her for his end and her new beginning.
When he removes her from the whipping post, she falls to her knees in the mud—a product of last night’s rain across the valley. He snaps the collar and leash around her neck and leads her to a fallen tree, which becomes their makeshift bed. Tying her—arms stretched above her head, her legs wide open—with her wounded backside against the scratchy bark, the pain in her shoulders and ass returns. But he cares little about her comfort; a chameleon to the very end, his sadistic, self-serving desire returns. He straddles the tree trunk between her open thighs and removes his thick erection from his pants. Impaling her in one swift thrust, he begins his last vigorous taking of the slut he’s created. She cries again, and grunts like a common whore, as he stabs her cunt repeatedly. Then she comes one more time as her master takes his pleasure. For an angry, despondent man this is the only joy he knows now. He will savor it to the finish, until the last burst of excitement, the last trickle, the last gasp, the last spasm finally quits his body, and he is done.
“Thank you,” he silently whispers as he peers into her hooded gaze.
She stares back at him, forever haunted, forever wounded by his love.

Artist Credit

Oleg Sizonenko

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Product Reviews

  1. Posted by John Velder on 23rd Apr 2010

    21 Sins by Lizbeth Dusseau
    Reviewed by John Velder, Copyright (c) 2005

    Someone once wrote that there were only a few really good plots for novels, and these plots fell into certain thematic categories. I’m willing to concede that; after many thousands of years of written human history it’s difficult to come up with something original. No, the issue with a novel these days is not the writer’s originality. It’s her game—is her art well crafted, well executed, well thought out—does it have a message although perhaps a subtle one?

    21 Sins is a book that is well crafted, well executed, well thought out, with a not so subtle message. It’s also hot as Hell.

    Melinda Janes, nee DuBois, is a “voluntary” – a voluntary slave, that is. Her Mother was Samuel Janes’ favored concubine, and when her Mother died she simply stayed with Mr. Janes. Formal papers of voluntary slavery were drawn up, and signed.

    But now Mr. Janes has died of cancer, and the problem of what to do with Melinda has fallen to the idealistic and fresh faced social worker Sydney Wingate. Ms. Wingate is determined to believe that Melinda has been coerced into a life of voluntary slavery, and sets about questioning the girl. Her reactions to the stories Melinda tells her of her life of slavery lead her on her own journey of exploration—into herself, into the life and world of a woman who would want to be a slave, and the joys, pain, and rewards of slavery. She finds that women who want to relax and allow someone else to be in control, women who enjoy the feelings of not having to worry about things are not “forced” and are not as uncommon or deviant as she originally believed.

    I also must point out that the ending of the book, while not entirely a surprise, is interesting. It indicates that Melinda has learned as much from Sydney as Sydney has learned from her. But there is a constant back and forth between the two of them that is simply fascinating. You could almost take a lot of the hard sex out of this book and it would still be a good story. The interplay between the two female leads is just that strong.

    And of course, the sex. Like Baskin Robbins, the sex in this book comes in many flavors, all of them thoroughly enjoyable. From Melinda’s 12-gauge pierced labia (“Samuel liked to hang weights from them, to stretch them or for punishment. Or for his own enjoyment”) to the anal “taking” of a young girl Melinda’s would-be owner has seduced into a life of voluntary slavery—this scene in particular is rendered so well and with such skill and attention to detail, complete with ice at the end of it—that it’s hard to forget. Other scenes that stick in my mind are the scenes with the guards, which are powerfully erotic because of the guards’ thuggishness and Melinda’s desire for the the treatment they give. Melinda’s meeting with Samuel Janes’ friend, the man who wants to own her is also strong. (“And yet you sit like a free woman. Are you a free woman? You know what I will do with you when I own you, don’t you?”). Interestingly enough, the scenes with Sydney as submissive are not as strong, barring the caning scene near the end, which, again is well rendered. I could almost touch Sydney’s soft skin, hear the crack of the cane as it left welts on her pretty, untouched ass, see her face and her reactions.

    There’s a lot of strong description in this story, erotic description that is not a description of any sex act. Mr. Janes’ friend’s description of his view of Sydney at the Slave Market, what she looked like to him...I’ve read very few better descriptions of a new slave, a slave for whom everything they think and feel is written on their face and in their body language. Lizbeth is very good at setting an erotic scene.

    This is a good story, a bit on the hard side, but I like O-ish stories, stories that are not necessarily soft and lovey dovey and romantic. I suspect any lover of books like that will enjoy this one.

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