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Whispers From The Edge - ebook

Product Type:
eBook
Price:
$6.50
SKU:
PF4250
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Publish Date:
04/12/2013
Quantity:
Available Formats:
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Kindle - .prc
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Product Description

Whispers From The Edge by Alexander Kelly

R.J. has doms for breakfast, lunch and dinner and none can deliver the hard edge style of play that she craves.  Spencer comes closest, but one night even when he says enough and offers to introduce her to a dom who might, finally, be the one to satisfy her, R.J. feels rejected.  Lashing out, R.J. almost tears apart the SM club she frequents.  Banished from the club R.J. meets with a mysterious street peddler and next thing she knows she’s transported to a realm where she is now in a different body, the technology is strange and the slavery is real.  Captured and enslaved R.J. becomes a pawn in a dangerous power game between the High Priestess, the Chief Scribe and various other competing factions.  Now it’s R.J. who must fight to keep up with the demanding slave training and exacting masters and mistresses, all the while trying to maintain her sanity and get home.

An SM fantasy tale that includes slave hunting and training, tight leather and rope bondage, strict gags and hoods, intense interrogations, sexual intrigue and a branding. 



Excerpt

I pulled back as far I can. The young man’s confusion was plain.
“It’s okay,” Spencer shouted from his usual place at the bar.
I adamantly shook my head. NO!
“Are you sure?” said the young man.
Spencer casually ambled over, drink in hand. “It’s all part of her scene, Chris. Just ask anyone. She pretends to resist.”
I shook my head again. Not this time!
“Go on,” Spencer said. He leaned in close to Chris. “You want to, right? She’s all warmed up. She just can’t wait to feel the flogger. Put some more welts on her. She needs conquering.”
Chris wavered.
“Practice on her, then take what you’ve learned and do it on Andi. Go on." Spencer nudged him with his shoulder.
Goddam Spencer! The only things he was missing are a barbed tail and pitchfork. His seduction was too much for Chris, who snatched the flogger.
His first strike caught me across the ribs and part of my left breast. I nearly fell to the floor. Only the chain above kept me upright, putting me in instant traction. Spencer backed away and Chris kept on with his strokes, his inexperienced and undisciplined style threatening to devastate me. His strikes weren’t hard, but after Spencer’s drubbing even the tiniest touch inflamed my suffering. I turned my back on Chris, but he just kept on with the beating. In his clumsy way, he reminded me of just what I’ve come here for.
Down, down between my legs, the passion that had lay dormant reawakened. I couldn’t help it. With each hit I’m pushed toward an edge of having my needs fulfilled, of feeling a man’s power inside me, and releasing my own back at him. I didn’t want to acknowledge the truth of Spencer’s claim before. Now I have no choice. This is the true torture. Chris has no idea what he’s feeding me and I can’t but help soak up whatever he’s giving, no matter how immature. Tears of despair spilled from eyes.
I don’t know if my reaction affected Chris, but the whipping stopped. I slowly turned back around, my nose running, my stomach still hitching from my quiet crying jag. I fought to get it under control, but it’s not my emotional display they react to.
Andi pointed. “Look at her legs!”
There, on the inside of my thighs, like tear tracks, were two streaks of my own juices. Andi and Chris couldn’t help themselves; they were like a couple of kids who suddenly discovered a new candy. Andi leaned forward, her trembling fingers extended as if she were about to touch the water of life.
She stopped just short. Perhaps she didn’t want to intrude on my suffering. Whatever the reason, she backed away, her young face flushed. She absent-mindedly twirled a lock of her curly, blonde hair, nestling up to Chris. “That’s what I want you to do to me.”
Chris smiled. They deeply kissed and Chris let the flogger fall to his side.
Spencer snatched it up, not allowing it to touch the floor, as if it were an honorable flag. The exchange of authority complete, he dismissed Chris and retrained his sights on me. Triumph filled him.
He unhitched the chain and untied the ankle hobble, but didn’t reconnect the leash. Instead he simply used the flogger to direct me. I jumped to avoid it, like a simple beast. He drove me before him, the blades snapping at my heels, my ass, my back, until we were once more in our private room. He removed the helmet, my hair now drenched in sweat, my skin now able to breathe again. My panties were drawn out and I needed water. But first, it’s all Spencer.
“I think you have something to tell me.”
I couldn’t say anything. Even if my tongue weren’t swollen, I’d still remain silent. This final part of me I had to keep to myself. No, I refused to beg, but Spencer wouldn’t be satisfied without some capitulation.
I lay down on top of my bound arms. My legs parted and I lifted my cunt to him.
He is on me in an instant, his mouth slavering over my face, licking up my salty tear stains. His tongue pressed against mine and his own saliva brought me some slackening of thirst, if also reinforcing his dominance. His cock slid into me without difficulty, driving deeper with each thrust. Our hips slap together, ramming, ramming, trying to come out the back side of the other. The carpet burns my back as Spencer’s weight drives me across it. I don’t care. “Do me right! Do me good!” I cry.
Then the inevitable. Spencer is still driving up inside me, but now it’s a hot stream of passion. I sang a mixed song of pain and pleasure. Just before he is spent, I too reach my goal. My contractions threaten to make me pass out, but I hold on. No matter what fiendish way Spencer got me here, or what may happen later, I’ve endured too much not to fully experience this. My legs wrap around his back, keeping him inside me until the last of my internal quakes are gone. His weight on top of me is dead, much like my own, a reflection of our spent wantonness. The stress of the day that led me here vanishes. All that is left is my submission and a feeling; a feeling that I’d been like this many times before, more times than I can account for in this life.

Artist Credit

Gleb Semenjuk - Shutterstock.com

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