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Teach Me Tender, Teach Me Rough

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Teach Me Tender, Teach Me Rough by Reese Gabriel

A BDSM club is the last place Cameron expected to be for a school assignment. But now her knees are weak and her heart is racing as the Dominant Victor's influence is having a profound effect.

Psychology student Cameron Blaine sees the ruthless Victor Cabrini as a subject fit to be studied. Victor thinks Cameron is fit to be his latest plaything, collared and naked at his feet.

Victor has a powerful influence over the women in his life who dare to choose submission to Victor rather than living normal lives. Beautiful Chloe could walk the runways of Paris, but instead she crawls nightly into a tiny cage at Victor’s club after dancing herself to exhaustion for the pleasure of his sleazy friends. Veronica is married to a rich man and has the world at her feet but she lives only to be Victor’s sex toy, surrendering her body at his slightest whim. And then there is the enigmatic and fiery Rachel who is at once Victor’s protégé and the recipient of his most severe punishments. One by one, under Victor’s orders, the women seduce Cameron, determining once and for all her place in his world. She is powerless to resist the onslaught as her desire for submission awakens.

Classic bdsm erotica from bestselling author Reese Gabriel. Includes corporal punishment, bondage, a variety of fetish content and plenty of sizzling and kinky sex.

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Inside the club was a silvery haze, dim lights on the ceiling reflecting off glowing faces. Tinny music played in the background, a kind of underwater jazz. There was a dance floor, all females, no males.
A blonde with short frizzy hair was gyrating her hips. She was hugging her own body at the same time, resting her head on her shoulders. Giving a deep sigh, she grabbed at the hem of the short skirt, inching it just a little higher, almost to the bottom of her cunt.
Another woman was bending her body backwards. She wore a black sequin halter top and shorts. She was tugging at a strip of leather which Cameron quickly realized was a leash attached to a slim black collar about her neck.
The collar was affixed with a tiny silver lock. Two identical locks, one each, adorned the straps on her spindly black heels. Cameron felt a clutching in her stomach. The woman was in bondage, right down to her clothing.
At least she was properly dressed, unlike the tall redhead, lean as a model, her willowy frame barely concealed by a matching pink lace push up bra and thong.
She looked like some kind of a lingerie ad, right down to the sparkly mules. Cameron nearly fainted when she turned around.
The mark on her ass was no mere tattoo, nothing a woman would choose for herself. She had been monogrammed, marked as the possession of another.
Cameron’s knees were weak as rubber. Her pulse was racing. Was she dreaming or had she walked into a nightmare? A little of both, perhaps.
Gradually she became aware of the eyes on her. Male and predatory, puffing cigar smoke, sipping cognac and scotch, sitting in groups of two and three at small tables ringing the dance floor.
These would be the masters.
The recognition sent a chill down her spine. She needed a drink. She needed to get up to that bar. Hadn’t the doorman told her she would find what she needed there?
“A white wine, please,” she told the bartender.
He set the glass on the bar, not bothering to quote her a price.
“How much?” she asked. “Excuse me?”
How rude, she thought as he walked off.
“Your money’s no good here,” declared a voice, deep and rich and toe curling.
The newcomer stole Cameron’s breath. He was well over six feet tall, broad shouldered with a narrow waist. He wore a white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up twice on either side. His slacks belonged to a business suit, expensively tailored. The shoes were hand-made, probably in Italy.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
He smelled of saddle leather and musk. With each breath she felt a little more lost. His eyes were the deepest blue, the kind women were conditioned like Pavlov’s dogs to fall in love with. Something about the mouth, though, a little touch of cruelty and a mind blowing dose of self indulgence.
“I mean that you don’t exist as far as he’s concerned.”
Cameron’s back stiffened. “Well he served me, didn’t he?”
“No. He served me.” She watched him reach in his pocket and pull out a billfold, diamond encrusted. Peeling off a fifty he placed it on the bar.
“Is this supposed to be some kind of joke?” she demanded.
“You’re the joke. What’s with the get up?”
“It’s not a get up, it’s a normal outfit, not that you people would recognize one.” Cameron seldom went on the attack except when she felt threatened like she did now.
“You people?” He snorted, pulling out a cigarette from a silver case.
Too bad, she thought, such a filthy habit for such a good looking man. “Don’t take it the wrong way. I’m just not a member of the BDSM community.”
“What you are,” he pronounced, blowing a very impressive ring of smoke, “is a very obnoxious little brat.”
Cameron knew the term from her research. “I’m not a brat. I’m not a sub at all.”
“Don’t tell me, you’re here writing an article for Better Homes and Dungeons.”
“I’m a grad student, actually. This is for a project on sexual variations.”

Artist Credit

© Coka, Fotolia.com

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