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Scandal For Sale - eBook

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Scandal For Sale: Confessions of a Sex Slave by Lizbeth Dusseau

The diaries of former sexual submissive S. R. Lourdes sit on the desk of publisher Elliot Rawlings... scandalous truth about the city's sexual S&M underground... detailed expose about her former owners - a Federal Judge, a prominent TV news anchor and a famous novelist. Her journey into submission is richly chronicled from her first, tentative consensual steps to the coercive efforts of cunning owners who keep her pierced, chained, caged, humiliated and certain that she will never know the love she seeks through her submissive nature.

Yet, when she finally has the courage to rebel and take back her freedom, will her scheme for revenge satisfy her? Or is she destined to again seek the bizarre sexual satisfaction that comes from being a man's owned property? Will she find the missing love she yearns for? And will the mysterious stranger at the Erotic Masquerade Ball take her freedom and give her love as well - or is he as deviant and ruthless as all the others?

A startling tale of seduction, betrayal and sexual extremes including dungeons, chastity piercings, shaving, anal sexuality, fem/fem bisexuality, public S&M parties, whipping and bondage.


Judge Perdue sat in his judicial looking chair, she on the sofa. I was offered a small upholstered chair that could hardly hold my ass—which is not big at all. I know now there was a method behind their plans.
“Some tea?” Mrs. Perdue asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said to be polite. She served three cups of Orange Pekoe tea, and we settled back to talk.
“A slave would take the floor,” the Judge started, and I turned to him.
My tummy was in knots. Was this what he wanted me to do? Sit on the floor? I was too scared to ask.
“A slave in the presence of their owner would only wear clothes if they were instructed to do so. They would wear only what was provided.”
My gut wrenched again.
“A slave would pleasure in humiliation, offer their body for inspection, allow themselves to be used in any way their owner desires, consent to any sexual activity, public or private that was demanded of them. A slave would obey. Disobedience and hesitation would be punished, with punishment cruelly administered until the slave’s behavior had been transformed to obedience.”
He cleared his throat while I absorbed these amazing thoughts.
“This is what is expected of you,” Judge Purdue told me. “If this is the vision that you have of yourself, then you can have it,” he paused, looking somewhat unsure if he wanted to add, “with me.”
“You, Sir?” My eyes bugged out, while my stomach flipped again.
“You’ve given away your desires a dozen times, Miss Lourdes.”
I knew this. He hardly had to tell me.
“Do you want to spend your life waiting to have what you desire, wishing, hoping, thinking about it, masturbating to the thoughts that grip your soul? Or, do you want to choose slavery and learn what it means?”
He was serious. This was no game, no innocent inquiry, no judicious study of a bizarre societal practice he was offering, but real slavery.

I can’t believe now what I said. What I committed to tonight. I said, yes, a stunning, clearly distinct, YES. I answered in the affirmative with this steady voice so unlike myself. To my great admission, Judge Perdue nodded, and Mrs. Perdue smiled. They seemed to know long before I made my commitment what my answer would be. I barely know these two, and I was pledging myself to them!
With this simple formality over, I sat back and listened to the Judge’s long monologue. The words fly by me now, not fit for memory, but the gist of my agreement was spelled out clearly.
I will be his owned slave until school dismisses in the spring—at which time our agreement will be reviewed. If I am still wanting with my whole heart, the binding between us becomes more permanent. I will be his slave until he releases, sells or gives me away. Sells? Gives me away? I consent to give up my liberty. To give him my thoughts to mold, my body to use and my life to dictate.
I cannot believe how much these agreements parallel the wickedness that has been hidden so long inside my fierce denial.
I will remain in school, taking courses he agrees to. For a time, I’ll stay in the dorm with my roommate and spend only the hours he designates at his home.
I can tell this is my trial.
My hand shakes as I write these words… my fingers can hardly work. The raw excitement of my evening lingers with me leaving every nerve in me on edge.
“Miss Lourdes, please stand.” He said this quietly, yet his order seemed to clap like thunder through my body. His eyes were glorious, brilliantly passionate as they inspected me from the tip of my head to my toes. “Remove your clothes.”

Artist Credit

(c) Tony Ryan

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