Sausony walks away from a patronizing husband and her life of affluent leisure, seeking a cure for terminal boredom, hitchhiking with anyone who'll have her. Blonde, beautiful and foolish, she has no clue what risks she takes. Her sexual fantasies turn real, when she hooks up with a trucker in the back of a biker tavern, then gets arrested for solicitation in a one-horse town with a backwoods sense of justice. Later, she's lured by the leather and dungeon crowd in LA, exploring submissive desires she yearns to experience. Her sensuous innocence attracts plenty of attention, but she's dangerously out of control, until a concerned black Dom, an accomplished sexual master, halts her downward spiral. If she wants to play in his world, she'll first learn the true meaning of submission. Under his guidance and protection, she is taken to the depths of her shameless masochistic craving. When he orders her to do the unthinkable, she must gather the courage to obey.
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Pink Flamingo Publications
September 24, 2003
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Excerpt from Sexual Mischief by Lizbeth Dusseau
Although she wore the new black corset on her return visit to the dungeon, she gave up the braids in favor of her more typically sultry look, her hair riding in waves at her shoulders. Without Bret on her arm as Master, it took some sweet talk to get inside, but sweet-talking was natural to her personality, and no bouncer could refuse the sensuous coquette's bewitching seduction. She promised to check in with the Master of the Dungeon, who bore the responsibility of protecting her as an unaccompanied submissive. Once inside, however, she immediately forgot the rule, figuring that no one would really care or notice if she didn't follow this rule. She began her perusal of the club as a free submissive, comforted by its intimate warmth. Even without Bret at her side, this was where she was meant to be.
It had been two weeks since she'd been in the dungeon. In that time, she considered her alternatives--forget the dungeon and all it meant or dive back in and let the scene take her to that next unknown step. She spent a few nights in several trendy bars but was soon convinced that she wasn't cut out for the heavy drinking, the smoke and the confusion of the party crowd, especially when her heart still ached for the darkness of a blindfold pressed over her eyes, the sound of a whip cracking nearby, the stinging feel of leather, the bite of wood and the clipped command of a master's voice containing her with his incontestable domination.
Containment. Order. Rules. Respect. Loyalty. The words of the dungeon fed her mind with new images that thrived on hope in the wasteland of her disorderly behavior. Hope that in her lifetime she could grasp just one of these concepts and appreciate the effect it might have on her happiness. The dungeon was the one place she could practice such virtues. Although she had no idea how these ideas might become part of her unsteady life, she trusted the one thing she could count on--men. Men, flocking to her as if she were Aphrodite herself. Eventually there would be one who would stand out above the others.
She sat on a barstool demurely waiting for fate to sweep her back into its arms, and it took no more than ten minutes for the first swaggering Dominant male to sit down beside her. She knew his brand of theatre, being one of a particular crowd that used the private rooms for private parties. With his scruffy look, dark tattoos down his thick arms, a heavy beard and jet-black eyes with brows that narrowed into a serious expression of lust, he might actually have the power to woo her. She wasn't sure. He was, perhaps, the leather version of the trucker who fucked her in the bar, or he might be something altogether different. Her mind was open to men, especially if they looked nothing like her button-downed preppy husband.
The conversation began with him.
"Lord El," he introduced himself.
"I saw you topped a couple of weeks ago. Real pain slut?"
"I wanted pain that night," she said.
"And not now?"
"Maybe. Maybe not. I know I don't want the same thing every time. I don't want my life to be normal," she gave him her customary response, "you give me normal, I'll split."
The comment was brash and sexy and he liked that, even if she was a submissive. "Then maybe you want what I can offer," he suggested, his tone pleasantly earthy and mysterious.
"And what's that?"
"Big scene. We're taking a private room tonight, the one in the back." He motioned to the room behind them. "Ever been there?"
"No, I don't think so." Bret confined their scenes to the main room, except on one occasion when he wanted sex afterwards and he screwed her on a spanking bench in one of small rooms with a door that locked.
"How about if I take you in?" His eyebrows raised as he posed the question. "You impress me as the servile type who'll take anything once a scene starts rolling." He fingered her thigh, leaving a white imprint on her skin where he pressed her flesh firmly. He then grabbed the thigh harder and squeezed, which sent a shockwave of arousal through her belly and loins. Letting go, his hand meandered up her skirt as if he'd already won the right to be there. He watched her face as it subtly changed, thinking he had her figured out.
"So I belong to you or the crowd?" she asked.
"Me. Of course. Just do what you're told." He leaned against the bar, casually lifting a lock of blonde hair out of her eyes, admiringly.
Her body quickened again with the tone of his words and the intimacy of the gesture.
"I don't want it brutal tonight," she said in a voice that quavered with that wonderful combination of excitement and fear that drives submissive woman with longing.
"No problem, I'll see to that. Long as you're ready to offer this body up in sacrifice, slave."
Sacrifice. The meaning of the word sizzled through her like water on a hot frying pan. Her eyes simmered darkly as the essence of 'sacrifice' played with her mind.
"You have other slaves joining you?"
"Properties. We refer to our women as properties." His tone turned noticeably chilly.
The hand playfully skirting her flesh suddenly grabbed at her labia, pinching one side forcefully until he saw the wince of pain register on her face.
"I'm yours," she answered him, panting softly, her head submissively bowed. Her arousal made her brave, even though her consent was nearly a given long before Lord El made his move.
Sausony moved with her new master to the back of the room where a small crowd gathered, ready to move into the private dungeon. Once a private party was set, the front doors were shut and locked from the outside. Getting out was only a matter of tripping the inside switch, but no one else was allowed inside until the night was over. The master in charge was careful that his entire company was there before they entered the brick-walled room.
As the mood of excitement permeated the air, the aura of anticipation and mystery invaded Sausony's body with a thrilling shiver. She smelled the pheromones in the air, the musk, the nervous sweat, the perfume of the slaves. She was ready. But just as the master's blindfold slipped over her eyes, an unidentified hand came out of nowhere and grabbed her by the shoulder. She was immediately jerked away from Lord El's control.
"Sorry, the girl's off limits," the voice behind her stated in a clear commanding declaration.
"What?" Lord El questioned, but he dared not raise his voice.
The blindfold torn away, Sausony stared in wondering amazement at the black man, Keith Correll.
"Sir, my apologies," a surprisingly effusive Lord El nodded with respect. "The girl didn't tell me she was bound to the house."
"Perhaps, because she doesn't know the protocol," the master returned without rebuke, although Sausony considered his comment an indicting reprimand. Her body burned with anger at this denunciation.
"Then you'll advise her," Lord El suggested.
"I surely shall."
A pair of metal handcuffs bound her wrists behind her, producing a rare show of temper on Sausony's face.
"What right have you to do that?" she barked into the black man's face
He stared right back. "It's my dungeon, girl. You don't know the protocol, you don't play. Tonight, I'm the dungeon master. Since you're a sub without a Dom, you're mine."
She looked back at him, eyes wide and stunned. The fire in her, having already flared, now dwindled into almost nothing. "And if I don't want to be yours?" she ventured just for clarification.
"Then I'll escort you to the door." He let that thought sink in before he demanded she make her choice. "What is it? Leave, or stay as my sub? I don't have all night."
Her mind moved fast--nearly as fast her as body, which urgently replied to his calm but fierce resolve. She trembled in excited fear of a man who seemed foreign to her white bread sensibilities. He held his powerful body with graceful self-assurance. Unlike other Dominants who wore leather vestments of authority, he was dressed simply in a pair of black, silk, pleated pants and a black, sleeveless t-shirt. His essence radiated authority, conviction and control in a combination that made Sausony's loins thirst, her mouth salivate, and her eyes bristle with lust. Wasn't he the man she wanted all along? "I think I should stay," she finally answered his question, speaking humbly.
"Good," he seemed pleased, which pleased her. He hauled her away while a few watched. But Lord El had already moved on to find another slave and most of the others who witnessed the scene dispersed elsewhere.
The master led Sausony to the corner of the room with no fanfare, no big crowd, just the two of them. The atoms between them crackled with the intensity of their initial clash and crackled even more when he unceremoniously snapped a thick metal chain around her neck and attached it to an eyebolt embedded in the wall. Without saying a word he started to walk away.
"You're leaving me!" she stared at his retreating form, stunned.
He turned back, moving a few steps closer and calmly informed her: "I'm keeping you safe. No one touches you here."
"But I don't want..."
"Don't want to be safe? Of course you do, if you plan to play in my dungeon."
"It's not your dungeon," she fumed under her breath.
He moved closer still, planting his massive body in front of her, while his eyes pierced her space with the intensity of a prowling lion. "Oh? You think not? Well, think again. This is my dungeon and I am the dungeon master tonight, which makes me your master while you're here. You belong to me until I release you, that is if I release you to another master, which I probably would not do."
"Why are you doing this to me? There are other free women here?"
"Because you are a danger to yourself. Because you don't know your own mind. Because you're so damned in need of control that I can't trust you to know the difference between good play and bad, a good scene and a lousy one."
She had no idea what to feel or say, but then blurted out like a spoiled child: "You hate me, don't you?" Tears welled in her great blue eyes, several spilling down her cheeks, one salty one running into the mouth.
"Hate? No," he shook his head wondering why she'd even said that, "it's more like love. But you, girl, don't feel you deserve that much and that's too bad. You're grounded tonight, in the corner. Think about that."
Doing an about face, he started to walk away.
"Please," she tried to bring him back.
He turned brusquely one last time and shot a warning rebuke with his eyes and pointed to the floor. "Don't make me have to gag you, too, girl. On the floor."
There was no turning back again once he finished speaking and continued on into the dungeon. He didn't even wait for her to sit, although his command was followed without hesitation.