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A Master For A Desperate Slave

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A Master for a Desperate Slave by Lizbeth Dusseau

Dana Ransom's life has been in shambles, ever since her relationship with her Dominant business partner Benjamin turned into a hellish war and he split. She's a genius of an artist and designer, but a total failure running the company she and Ben own. Even her new master Locksley's ruthless domination can't seem to set her straight. When Dana's silent partner suddenly brings Ben back to take over the company, she's shocked to find her former master in her hallowed office although it's no effort at all dumping the nasty mess in his lap.

With Benjamin in her life again, Dana's submissive hunger for him burns hot through he wants nothing to do with the quirky, sexy but volatile Dana. She begs, she pleads in desperation, and finally gets Ben's attention when he finds her masturbating on her desk. Out of the blue days later, Dana's ordered into an alley, and into a cage in the back of a pickup. Whisked off to a boot camp training by an unknown assailant, she's held in a mountain cabin, where Benjamin and his accomplice, Jud, will turn the sassy woman into the kittenish, groveling slave that Ben wants... and Dana desperately desires. If she takes the degradation of crawling on her knees, the painful abuse and the rough punishment, she might, just might, be ready for her former master.

A story of masochistic longing and sadistic need exploding in a powerful tale of love, desire and sexual fireworks. Artfully drawn scenes of bondage and S&M dungeon play.


The fog creeps in across the landscape outside my window, swallowing the day. It steals away the cheer of the morning sun and leaves in its place the flat gray of a chilly summer San Francisco afternoon. Maybe there’s a message in this encroaching tide of gloom, telling me I don’t have the time for staring out of windows, for pondering the meaning of life, or toying with my creative thoughts. I have this business to run, this business that is falling to pieces. Some days I see it like a child’s blocks kicked, and in slow-motion scattering in a dozen disjointed directions. Other days, I dig in and tackle the issues of inventory, purchasing and customer fulfillment, all of which require organization, which I’m lousy at. Ever since Benjamin left that is what I do with ever-increasing inefficiency.
But this is my business, I tell myself again and again.
A pile of invoices have yet to be recorded and three customers are screaming at me for goods I thought I shipped a week ago—then again, maybe I didn’t. And Jerry down at the warehouse tells me that shipments from Singapore and Tokyo didn’t arrive. I sent Sally downstairs to find out what happened and now the phone rings, jarring me back to reality.
I hesitate to answer, wishing I could crawl under the desk and hide AWOL from my world.
“This is Dana; may I help you?”
“Your phone has been ringing off the hook,” the caller says. I recognize the voice, and on hearing the sound of the man’s deep baritone, a warm sexual heat spreads across my belly, moving outward from within.
“It’s been busy, sir,” I tell him.
“But not too busy to answer the phone.”
“No, sir.” It’s not part of the game to resist this man, even as the wild horses of resentment are galloping through my sane mind. I can’t leave now and this is what he wants—I must assume.
“You’re wearing your ropes?”
“Yes, sir,” I answer as I feel the rope bondage that confines my body pull ever-tighter around my middle, my breasts and my groin.
“And the tall heels, the zip skirt and the thin blouse?” he inquires.
“No, sir.” I stare down at the paint-stained overalls and my combat boots knowing how much he’d hate what I’m wearing. In my defense, I was running late today and these just jumped from my closet. Even my receptionist sighed with contempt seeing me so attired. “But I have them with me,” I hastily add.
“Then you’ll dress and meet me…”
“But, sir, please, I really can’t, not now. I have mountains of work, customers breathing down my neck and a major crisis in the …”
He interrupts. “You remember that warehouse the other side of Market Street?”
“In the Mission?”
“That’s the one.”
“I’ll expect you in twenty minutes.”
Impossible! I scream without sound, swallowing my words until they hit my stomach and turn it immediately sour.
The phone clicks off.
“No, I can’t go!” I say aloud to no one because no one’s in the office with me.
I won’t! I can’t! I’m risking too much. Every time I answer one of Sir Locksley’s calls I dig a deeper grave. Might as well climb in for good.
Randall Tyler, the investor with the bucks, will have my head. Locksley demands my body. What am I supposed to do? I’m owned by forces far beyond me.
I sit…in fact, I slump listlessly in my chair and gaze into the fog that shrouds the building. A teasing tingle of sexual mirth stirs wickedly between my legs as Locksley’s orders return to me. I want to masturbate myself to ease the anxiety, but I’m not allowed to touch myself without His permission. My fingers can hardly keep from crawling to my crotch, from digging inside the overalls. I tug at the denim, then clutch it in my fist in frustration.
Oh, please, stop this feeling! My head pounds, my gut is clenching, and then like a tidal wave come to bring me back to the sea, I’m ripped from my moorings, from what’s right and responsible, and set adrift.
I know where I’m headed; my obsession draws me and I can’t help myself.
I move quickly to the cloak room and scramble into the clothes he wants me to wear. As I do, the persona of the dutiful submissive drapes my body. The ropes he bound me with three nights ago cut in, the reminder of his dominance, what is fierce and authoritative, what I love. He is with me every hour, and these bindings are the armor that protects me from betraying him.
Heels, zip skirt—zipped from hem to waist up the back along the crack of my derriere—and the sheer blouse; that’s all I need to wear, just as he ordered.
Before Sally returns from the warehouse, I’m gone, leaving the cardboard clock on the door pointing to 4:00 pm, when I hope I will return. Two hours, I’m giving him two hours, no more, I tell myself. But I’m on Locksley’s time now, not my own, and I haven’t a clue about when I’ll finally get back to work.

Artist Credit

(c) Thomas Roche 2004, www.skidroche.com

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Product Reviews

  1. Posted by Lancelot Knight on 23rd Apr 2010

    A Master For A Desperate Slave by Lizbeth Dusseau
    Reviewed by Lancelot Knight, Copyright (c) 2004

    A Master for a Desperate Slave is a voyage of discovery—or perhaps I should say self-discovery.

    Dana Ransom is a perpetually horny submissive who can’t seem to keep herself from constantly arguing and taunting her Master. She is confused and inadequate in many ways, but stubbornly refuses to admit it.

    Benjamin Hunter, at the same time, isn’t sure he can release his sadistic nature and finds himself frustrated and quarrelling constantly with Dana.

    Each enjoys a kinky lifestyle that involves pain, canings, piercings. But , they seem to be poison for each other. Dana is a free-spirited submissive, who doesn’t recognize her limitations. Ben is controlling. Theirs is a mutual journey to discover if they are right for each other. Eventually Dana submits to a boot camp, where Ben and a friend use the submissive in any manner they wish from using Dana as a human ashtray to forcing her live in a cage without speech.

    For those of you who enjoy your sex kinky, there is plenty to read about—from spankings and public humiliation to back alley sex against the wall to labia piercing. It’s all here and more. However, Dusseau, a skilled and poetic writer, mingles the steamy sex scenes with a genuine introspection that lifts the novel from being mere titillation to a psychological study of the needs of a Master and a submissive—needs no less profound in the world of kinky sex than in the world of straight sex.

    A Master for a Desperate Slave is a splendid and entertaining read, but more, it is a psychological exploration of the lifestyle as well.

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