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Carly On Her Knees

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Carly On Her Knees, BDSM Erotica by Lizbeth Dusseau

Carly has a carefree life, living in Paris on her family's money. When she stumbles into reporter Tyler McBride as she's exiting the American Embassy, there is an instantaneous attraction that lands the pair in bed for a torrid romance. After three days, Tyler is off to the Middle East where he could remain for months. When Carly does not hear from him, she assumes the affair is over and impulsively takes on a clandestine assignment for her former lover, Dana, who is an operative with the State Dept. Dana knows of Carly's submissive desires. In fact, she's caned her on several occasions with very erotic results. Now, she sends the despondent girl into a nightmarish affair with a wealthy industrialist, Byron Haverleigh, who may be selling state secrets to foreign countries. Haverleigh is also an accomplished sexual master, who wants a groveling pet to play with while in Paris. Carly will become a mole for Dana, while having the kinky sex she craves.

Driven to her knees and made to crawl before him and his friends at a Paris fetish club, Carly finds herself thriving on the thrills of pain, humiliation and the rough sex Haverleigh demands of her. The deeper she slides into her submissive role the more she hungers for the edgy extremes. But when she overhears secret information in Haverleigh's private conversations and returns home to a ransacked apartment, she panics. A surprise call from Tyler, sends her fleeing to Istanbul where their scorching romance picks up where it left off, culminating in a whirlwind wedding. Little does she knows that she's on the brink of disaster and when her entire life is ripped apart, she lands in the US, facing yet another dominant man who will take her submissive desires further than she could every dream.

BDSM, sizzling romance and hot sex combine in this latest novel from Lizbeth Dusseau. Featuring bondage, discipline, training scenes, fetish attire, exhibitionism, and some Femfem bdsm.


James, her lover, smokes as he circles her bound nakedness. He’s stripped to the waist, his firm muscles flexing proudly; a cigarette between the fingers of one hand, in his other a finely made whip. Using the tail-end of the rope that bound her wrists, he’d tied her arms to a beam above her head—how convenient it was to find a garret with an accommodation for his sexual fetish. Though her pheromones have been on the rise for nearly a half hour, her lithe body is only now covered with a thin layer of perspiration.
Her body is slender, her skin pale, her breasts small mounds that set up proudly in the humid air. Her long flaxen hair trails down her back, while her shaved mons is slick with erotic juices leaking from her sex.
The discomfort of the awkward pose is allayed by a fantasy of capture, torture and sexual release that has been playing inside her mind since he called her earlier that day. Although she currently has doubts about their future together, she was quick to accept his invitation—the physical rhythms in her body had been waiting for an invite to come her way. On days she feels the need for kinky sex, she waits, psychically begging her lover to feel the passion that throbs so hotly in her horny body. Some women would ‘take matters into their own hands’ and contact him. But not Carly. Never has she wanted to be the instigator of such a scene since the role she plays is unequivocally submissive.
Most days she goes without her raunchy needs satisfied. Today she got lucky.
Her lover lunges with the whip so suddenly that she lets out a scream beyond the panty gag he stuffed inside her mouth. She grimaces, wrenching painfully, maybe more than normal; this one struck on her tender side where the skin is fragile and easily wounded.
“Getting soft on me?” he ridicules her plight.
Her eyes shoot open, then soften into a miserable expression that will only make him chide her more.
“You’d think if you didn’t like our afternoons together that you’d quit coming, Carly.”
If she had the ability to answer, she might tell him something like: ‘It’s not about liking or disliking the activity of being tortured; it’s about knowing what I need.’ And this she needs. She’s not the kind of girl who moons over ‘the why’ behind her kinky obsessions. They satisfy her, what more does she need to know?
They satisfy James Battles too. He’s the sadist she’s been visiting for well over a year of torturous sex games.
For a moment, he teasingly rakes her flesh with his nails, while the smoke from his burning cigarette winds its way inside her nostrils. She breathes deep, wishing she could take a drag, then she spirals down through layers of uncertainty to the core of her fantasy: capture, torture, sexual release.
Each snap of the whip landing on her skin generates another sharp pain and another lurching and garbled cry. She lunges forward, only to be pulled back by her tethered wrists. He’s flailing on her harder now, in quick bursts of blows, cuts that erratically batter her with a pain so angry that she wishes she could let out the full intensity of her anguish in one long shrieking scream. Though that means of emotional release has been denied her, she’ll suffer through this torture because she knows what ecstasy lies on the other end of her torment. She goes inside, settles her mind on the fierce sensation, and locates the throbbing responses in her hungry crotch. Just that one focused thought and the entirety of her body seems to explode in a physical orgasm that is not so much located in her sex as her entire body. She spasms hard, cruelly, her groin jutting into the room with the hope that her lover will notice the blatant come-hither.
Of course he notices her every move, all the body language, all the silent clues she imparts to him in her gagged state.
True to form, he takes his time, drawing her out on a knife blade of uncertainty, through the wondering, wishing, begging stages of hopefulness. He increases the force of the beating then waits until she adjusts before taking her even deeper into the pain. As he’s done a dozen times, in a dozen trysts past, he takes her to the hard edges of her endurance, and by some skillful knowledge, or just bum luck, he knows exactly when to stop.
He draws in close, and again with careful fingers titillates her body with his touch, making a teasing journey with his hand until he reaches her pulsating crotch.
He fingers her slit lightly. “Is this what you want?”
She nods vigorously. “Uh huh.”
His fingers move deeper and she seizes up.
Too soft?” he asks, already knowing that what she desires is his hard erection in her steamy hole.
“Uh huh,” now weeping with frustration as her desire soars.
He continues to smile and strut and smoke his cigarette, gloating over his mastery of her body and this incredible moment. He’s her Dom, her master, her lord and savior, and still he’s content to mock her with her own suffering.
“It’s not my style to make this easy on you, slave,” he says. “But of course you know that…” he chuckles darkly, “and still you sign on for another afternoon of pain.” As he so delicately toys with the wet folds of her sex, her face twists into a horrible grimace. “Is this really so bad?” he mocks. “I mean, you’re practically coming.”
Of course, I’m practically coming—and not just practically! She’d scream if she could. A spontaneous series of spasms continues through her lower body, but coming on air and delicate fingers is not what she desires most.
“Maybe you’d rather have this,” he says. He steps back and drops his pants, unveiling a hard erection jutting from his hairy crotch.
Her eyes light longingly on the hefty organ, while her gagged mouth salivates on the sopping gag.
“Feast on that, Carly,” he sneers, while he struts and smokes before her lust-filled eyes. Finally, he moves in once more and teases her pussy with his fingers until she’s beside herself with want, jerking like a battered sail writhing on the wind. His rigid cock brushes against her thigh and she lurches forward. His hand moves deeper into her crotch and the inner spasms become stronger.
“You know, I should make you wait,” he delivers another taunt to make her whine. “Or maybe better than that, I should deny you the pleasure you are such a slave to. How would that be? Send you home without the end you seek? Maybe break you of this nasty obsession?” He thinks again. “Of course, should I do that, and break this terrible obsession of yours, I’d have to find another slavey female like you. They’re hardly a dime a dozen, especially a well-seasoned one like you.” He sighs plaintively, then with a sneer of satisfaction, he pulls in tight against her groin with his raging hard-on sliding between her wet labia. With one sharp thrust forward he sinks himself into her grasping portal. “Ah yes!” He lays his hand against the side of her face. “For such a well-fucked female, you have one tight cunt.”

Artist Credit

(C) Ludovic Goubet, www.ludovicgoubet.com

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Product Reviews

  1. Posted by Unknown on 23rd Apr 2010

    Carly On Her Knees by Lizbeth Dusseau
    Reviewed by Tobias Tanner

    Capture, torture, sexual release, the mantra of Carly's deepest fantasies, and she knows what she wants. It doesn't matter to her so much about how these three things are worked out, and she doesn't get it all the time, but when she does…well, she does! The question, however, is why. In the most puerile sense, there is plenty of the how, and how. Bound, gagged, crawling, wriggling, beaten, raped, publicly humiliated, and so much more, is all about the how.

    We find ourselves liking her, however, and when that happens, the reader begins to look for deeper meanings in the author's work. And they abound in this book, for those who care to seek them. Here, we find an orphan, a child of diplomats, raised as a flower in humanity's garden—meant to bloom and be noticed, to be the center of attention, to please the crowd. But, at 22, she is alone, with money enough to do what she wants, and connections in Europe and the United States to stay in touch with those figures in power who are most familiar to her. She is comfortable with such people; especially when they choose to make her uncomfortable—very uncomfortable.

    Carly is attracted to power, and to older people, grown-ups, in fact. Men and women alike find in her a willing submissive who responds deeply to control, to pain, to humiliation, to bondage. Each uses her for their own purposes, putting her at risk, manipulating the vulnerability that makes her so desirable. Tragedy strikes, as it inevitably does in these circumstances, and Carly finds herself out of the frying pan and into the fire, so to speak.

    In the fire, however, is the answer she has sought all along, an answer to the question she never asked. What does she want? Beyond the tactile inputs, where is happiness for a young woman who has lost everything (not once, but twice!!!)? The fact is that what she really wants is a light in the window, a warm, welcoming home, and love. And she is desperately seeking a replacement for her lost family, to fill the empty space in her heart once filled by her parents, and then by her murdered husband.

    She seeks the mother and father figures, and the sense of order and discipline that loving, responsible, thoughtful people give any child. Does she find it? Well, you be the judge, and pardon the pun. Read on. You'll get the little joke later on.

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