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Labyrinth, An Erotic BDSM Novel - eBook

Product Type:
eBook
Price:
$6.50
SKU:
PF1092
Author:
ISBN:
9781936173310
Publish Date:
6/27/2008
Rating:
Quantity:
Available Formats:
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Product Description

Labyrinth, An Erotic BDSM Novel by Lizbeth Dusseau

Labyrinth is not so much a place, as a state of mind; the domain of men who worship the female sex and with the same gut level passion reduce them to little more than sexual playthings. Alec West

On windswept nights, off city streets, from the monotony of daily life, four sexy females are taken to the depths of a mysterious Labyrinth for a 24 hour orgy of sex and submission. The powerful erotic spell the Labyrinth weaves around its submissive females remains unbroken until the last hour of each spectacle is played out.

Among the four is the beautiful Lana...until her charming black lover swept into her world, she was a sad girl with great ambitions working for tips in an all-night diner. Though she's now a successful magazine editor, this seductive beauty remains an willingly owned woman, in every way a slave to the dominant lover who rescued her from despair. Shackled, caged and thoroughly trained as a humble sexual servant, she's faithfully served her master. But now she wants out of the contract she once signed in blood. But the way to earn her freedom will be to give her master what he desires...the waifish ballet dancer, Evie. But time is slipping by fast. Lana has only until the end of the Labyrinth's next gathering to bring Evie to her master or he'll void their deal and an unknown fate will await her.

The ambitious stockbroker, Kathryn, and the overworked seamstress, Jewel, join Lana and Evie, telling tales of the mystifying Labyrinth and the unfolding drama that will determine if Evie will succumb to the seduction and Lana earn her freedom.

A haunting tale of S&M revelry, with bondage, punishment and unbridled sex.


Excerpt

Cold and naked I crawled to the door in chains, not that I could see where I was going. The red sash must have looked like a streak of blood across my eyes; it was so tight that my head began to throb and my blinded eyes ached. My knees hurt too, encrusted with ally gravel and city dirt, which was all I could discern about where I’d find the labyrinth that night. The sound of traffic rushing by from city streets was a dead giveaway that we’d not gone far.
The chains? Those were new, awaiting me in the car when Thayer picked me up at six o’clock. He’d been miffed enough to make me cool my heels on the sidewalk for a half hour. By the time ten minutes ticked by, I’d realized his game: I’d be in for another twenty minutes of chagrinned patience.
The thick iron collar fit tightly around my throat, delivering me to the land of surrender, a place I often find difficult to navigate. I balked when I saw the rest of the shackles, only to have Thayer stop the car, turn around and look me in the eye angrily. He gave my face a stinging slap. “If you want to know if I’d put you out on the street naked, Kathryn, you can try that attitude again. Or you can put the chains on and let them do their work.”
Who was I to argue?
There were rough iron shackles for my wrists and ankles, the pairs connected with thick chains that not only weighted me down, they made sure that I’d make plenty of noise during that brief crawl through what I believed was an alley. Another chain went around my waist; another was attached to the choking collar, then was thread between my legs and up my back to be hooked to another ring at the back of the collar. The design was crude, but it was effective; by the time Thayer’s beat-up Hummer came to a lurching halt, I was traveling in another plane of existence. Some women get lured by the mystery, I get bodily thrown into a place of surrender. Thayer has little finesse. But that certainly doesn’t stop the magic, or the excitement of a trip into the labyrinth.
The music was grinding, hard metal, but strangely erotic and taking up the beat inside my crotch within seconds of moving from the city noise into the labyrinth’s uncivilized domain.
I felt hands on me almost from the first moment, fingers in my mouth, a hand on my ass and probing deeply into my anal crack. I’d left the asphalt at the door, finding the remainder of my crawling journey nearly as difficult as I navigated a hard wood floor. There’d be bruised knees by morning. I’d been leashed like an animal; one sharp tug on the leash, which I presumed was being handled by Thayer, and I came to an abrupt halt. After crawling up three stairs I imagined myself on a riser where those mauling hands could have easier access to my offered body. At least the cushioned top was softer than wood.
Someone’s hand roughed up my hair, then pulling my head back, the head of a penis presented itself to my waiting lips. The stench of a man’s crotch was a heady aphrodisiac causing my mouth to salivate and my lips to open as they sought out the fleshy organ. I toyed with the head, using the fellatio skills I’d been trained to use. But suddenly, all my careful skills were whisked aside with the huge member unceremoniously shoved into my mouth. I immediately gagged. But the huge organ wasn’t going away. The man who owned it lunged again and again, drilling my mouth so fiercely that I could barely breathe. My nose was nestled against the base of his organ, pressed to a hairy crotch and forced to stay there by a pair of hands clutching the sides of my head and using my ears as handles. So intent was I on the man at my mouth that I hardly realized there was another one working the opening of my ass, his fingers invading the sexual places of my body until my pussy flowed with juice and my asshole was lubricated for the sex that was certain to follow. Even my underside was molested, breasts pawed by a crude hand until I shrieked—as much as one can shriek with a cock clinging determinedly to my throat.
The penetration went on until I was not only stuffed at the mouth, but a thick male organ impaled my ass and my cunt was savaged by probing fingers. My mind had settled into a hazy delirium where the sound of the pounding music matched the rough beating of my body’s orifices, until I’d nearly passed out from the frenetic attack. My resistance diminished like crumbling leaves in a wet gutter. That gone, the mood of the night began to infect me with a hedonistic fervor for more: for another cock, another hand, another pair of lips to please, the scent of another man to shock my senses back to life, or perhaps, the sensuous softness of a woman’s body to soothe away the physical cruelty committed by my sadistic lovers.
One crashing orgasm led to another, then another, then to my screaming into the sweltering night air; I found myself rolled onto my back, my limbs askew and the chains half gone—though the shackles at my wrists and ankles remained. The red sash had disappeared so that when I opened my eyes, I saw Thayer staring down at me through the murky haze of the labyrinth.
“What a fucking slut!” He shook his head in mock disgust; his way of diminishing me further.

Artist Credit

(c) Roman Kasperski, www.romankasperski.de

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Product Reviews

  1. Posted by Tobias Tanner on 23rd Apr 2010

    Labyrinth by Lizbeth Dusseau
    Reviewed by Tobias Tanner

    Labyrinth is not so much a place as a state of mind… So begins this tale from the prolific and able hand of Lizbeth Dusseau and it ranks right up there with her finest work to date. Why? Funny you should ask.

    It’s nasty, to start with. Is it ever! Brandings and beatings and fistings, slaves crawling here and there, penned up, tied up, hung up, beaten and swapped and used and abused—oh yes, nasty is what it is—as deliciously salacious as you could ever hope for. But, oddly, that’s not the part that sticks with the reader afterwards.

    All right, let’s have a show of hands. How many people remember the number of times that ‘O’ was whipped, or given to strangers, or used by the members at Roissey? A lot? Well, yes, I can’t argue with you there. But is that what you remember from Pauline Reage’s book? No, of course not. What you remember are the changes that her central character underwent, and the confidence that those changes wrought.

    Labyrinth, like The Story of O, is about power, and the certitude that it brings. It is about change through dominance and submission and about the inevitability of that change when one is opened psychically in such a fashion. The state of mind and the symbolism are equally important, and Dusseau has done a masterful job of defining these things through her many characters. She understands that, by definition, interactions between humans cannot be static. We are a dynamic race, ever changing, growing throughout our lives.

    It stands to reason then that no dominant or submissive can stand still, either mentally, physically or emotionally, and that such movement brings transformation. Whatever motive one may have used at the beginning (becoming a slave, for instance) will fade into irrelevance, because people change, and are changed, by the very experience they seek. You may be submissive or you may be dominant, but whatever else happens, you won’t be quite the same tomorrow. We never are.

    So, who are the masters in the labyrinth, and who are the slaves?

    Funny you should ask.



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