On a desolate country road, Annabelle finds a beautiful barefoot waif wandering aimlessly. It seems she's running away from Breckenhurst - a strange gothic mansion that rises from the flat Northern plains, inspiring wild gossip in the curious townspeople. They are certain there are strange sexual goings-on inside the sober walls. If they only knew the terrible truth!
After burgers and shakes in Kat's Diner, the waif, Sylvie, drops beneath the table and licks Annabelle's cunt to a hot unexpected climax. Bewildered, but intrigued by the girl, Annabelle takes her home, thinking she just might fit into the kinky lifestyle she shares with her boyfriend, Eric. Annabelle's no stranger to S&M; getting ruthlessly beaten and forcibly raped have been one cure for the persistent demons that make her life restless and discontent. At first, Eric loves having another willing female to abuse--especially because this one is so utterly submissive. But later, when he takes off for a new job and expects Annabelle to follow, she refuses to go with him, saying Sylvie needs her. He's pissed. But he suspects, rightly, that it's not Sylvie who keeps his girlfriend tethered. It's the tales Sylvie's told her of Lawton Hurst and the mysterious Breckenhurst, that have his desperate girlfriend ready to crawl there on her knees.
Hurst attracts women like flies, all drawn to him for his dark sexual visions and his willingness to abuse and contain his women. Deciding to return Sylvie to where she belongs, Annabelle arrives at Breckenhurst, only to find that she cannot leave. The powerful force of the man's allure has her captured. One hour in his midst and she knows he will take her to the hard extremes of submission, in hopes of forever purging her of the dark past that haunts her life.
The two clash in a lusty battle of wills that sees Annabelle taken down, forced to surrender in ways as savage as her fiery anger. Readers looking for hard S&M, anal, oral, forced sex, bondage, punishment, exhibitionism, public sex, human pony training, an enema and fisting, double penetration, and orgies will find it all in this compelling story.
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1 . excellent erotic story!!!
Posted February 26, 2012 by D , torontoThis story was truely great!! what else is there to say, excellent story!! I wouldn't change anything about this book!! started reading and couldn't stop!! I rate 10/10
November 30, 2009
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Excerpt from She'll Come Crawling by Lizbeth Dusseau
"You what?" Eric looks at me baffled, disbelieving.
"She sucked me off at Kat's--after I fed her a burger and shake...she did crawl under the table."
Our little lost waif Sylvie is in the living room; Eric and I are in the bedroom. I'm not sure how he's taking our visitor, but he certainly doesn't look pleased.
"How come you never sucked me off at Kat's?" he says in a rather twisted way.
"Aw, come on, don't begrudge me that, she was good. I mean really good. I'm sure she'll do you, hon."
"Right. But she's staying?"
"At least until we can figure out where she can go. She's got nothing. Nothing!" I don't think he believes me.
"And where exactly does she sleep? We've only got one bed."
"Oh, maybe between us." My eyes light, appealing to his sense of adventure.
"Sure. Yeah." He shakes his head. I know that he doesn't like surprises. If he doesn't plan it himself, it takes a while for him to adjust to something new. "We don't even know her, Annabelle."
"I know that. But I can't put her out on the street. She doesn't even have shoes."
"Then take her back to where you found her."
"Well, aren't you the magnanimous soul?"
"She's a little spooky, if you ask me."
"But don't you think she's beautiful? I mean, in kind of a haunting way?"
"Eric, she needs someone's help. We have no idea what might have been going on at Breckenhurst--maybe it's as hellish as everyone imagines. Why else would I find her walking away?"
Eric's mood doesn't change but at least he lets her stay.
Sylvie sleeps on the living room floor for two nights. I can't coax her to the couch--like it's too much luxury and her poor bones can't bear the comfort. She cleans the place while I'm working at Harvey Dunn's law office. I do Harvey's secretarial work. Eric hauls lumber for the lumber mill and keeps long hours. Often he's not home until after nine. When it's just Sylvie and me at home, I attempt to pry loose some information about her life at Breckenhurst, but she remains as vague as a nocturnal breeze. The third night, Eric comes home earlier than usual and a strange sort of silence descends around us all. He hates not knowing who she is and what she's about and so far we know little more than we did the day I brought her home.
Eating dinner--rice, beans and tamales--he blurts out, "You're one of Hurst's girls, aren't you?"
I don't know if he's guessing or he has some hard knowledge about what goes on at Breckenhurst.
She nods, then demurely puts down her fork and slides her hands to her lap.
"Will you please speak!" Eric says exasperated.
"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir."
I find her quite alluring in her very submissive repose, as if she's begging to be taken. And all that 'sir' stuff is so charming.
"Why did you leave?" he asks.
"No," he says, "words, girl. I want you to speak to me. I don't care how things were at Breckenhurst, you're in my house now! You talk when you're spoken to." He raises his voice and she visibly shudders. "I want the truth and I don't want to have to pry it from you, got that?"
Again, she nods her head and I want to laugh, but Eric's insistence does seem to get her attention.
"Why did you leave?" he repeats. His eyes assault her and her lip trembles before she finally spits out:
"He doesn't want me anymore. And I don't want him." Her voice is clipped and cold, although I think she's trying hard not to cry.
"But you leave with nothing?"
"I own nothing, I have nothing. I don't really want anything," she says defensively. "I just want to be away from him."
"He abuse you?"
She bites her lip.
"Come on," he urges.
She shakes her head. "It's not like that."
She's mum again.
"What? You like getting hurt? You like pain?" She doesn't answer. "Annabelle here loves a good thrashing, don't you?" He looks at me and turns back to her with an intense stare. "Is that it? Hurst beat you because you liked it?"
"Yes, sir." Her eyes grow wide with the admission.
He sniggers. "I'll be damned!"
He stares at her some more and I can see that his interest is building. He's just stoked his fires and I feel that in my gut.
"I wonder what Hurst would do if he found you here, huh?"
"Tell me." He's arrogant in a surly, lordly sort of way. When I'm in the mood for it, I love it. Now? I'm not sure. "He's your 'master', right?"
"He'd punish you, wouldn't he?"
"And you'd what... get off?"
She bites her lip and blushes. "Maybe."
"Well, maybe you need it right now."
Those wide dark eyes of hers are glassy and filled with hunger. I can almost hear her heart palpitating in anticipation. My own flutters excitedly.
"Maybe a girl like you can't survive without her beatings. Hum?"
She stares at him without moving.
"That's it, isn't it? You leave him, but you also know you can barely stand not getting what you need."
She licks her lips. Her rounded shoulders scrunch in tight as she nervously shivers.
"You have seen my room, girl?"
"You've seen the hook?"
"Well, then get to it, girl."
God, I love this! The tension is driving me crazy. The warmth spreads through my lower body like water melting into sand.
Our humble house is actually an old gas station. The pumps outside are gone and inside there are just two big rooms. Gus, who owned the place before me, added a decent kitchen off the big front room and a bathroom that opens into both rooms. That part of the place looks like a regular house. He didn't do much with the car bay that's become our bedroom but close it up and seal it against the hard winters. Eric and I painted it grey when he moved in, then tacked down a bright red carpet remnant before moving in the bed. There's a clothes rack at one end that disappears behind a long silver curtain strung across a metal rod. The room works for sex and serious hard play. Imagine Eric's delight when he saw the large hook swinging from the ceiling at the far end of the room. No way he'd take that down. And how convenient! How strategically placed! All he needs to hoist me up when I'm bad. All he needs for little Sylvie now.
We follow the girl into the bedroom where she stands in wait below the hook as if she's gone through this routine before.
"Take off the dress," Eric orders.
She hardly hesitates, while Eric and I both stand in awe as she unveils a body as sensuously alluring as her spirit. Her flesh is a cool creamy white making the simple tattoo vine that winds from the top of her ass, around her hip and down to her thigh, stick out in bold relief. Her pussy is shaved clean and I do believe she's been branded, although I can barely see the image that was burned against her thigh.
While I keep my distance, Eric circles his prize; his expression pleased. He then takes off for our closet of trinkets and comes up with his favorite rope--he particularly likes rope for bondage, especially the indentations it leaves in the skin after he's untied his victim. He loves how it pulls and tugs and tightens.
Her body jerks as he winds the rope around her wrists behind her, threads it through the end for a tight hold, then pull her hands up toward the hook. The position is painfully demeaning, but she doesn't seem to hate it the way I do, nor does she struggle against his efforts to secure her. The stain is evident on her face, but she says nothing as she gulps visibly. I know he has her hands too high and after stepping back a bit, Eric sees this too. With his lowering them slightly, her bent over body seems to ease.
"Close your eyes and don't dare peek!" he orders next.
Her eyes shut tight, making her look as if it takes some mighty effort to keep them closed.
I stand further back as Eric begins, grabbing her hair and planting a firm kiss on her lips. She responds with natural ease, opening her mouth to receive his probing tongue. He draws back, letting go her hair and his hand moves down to spank her ass with smacks I know hurt like the devil.
"Open your legs!" he snaps the order.
She stands a little wider and the strain on her shoulders increases. As she bends forward, her ass sticks out quite nicely: two small, firm, rounded cheeks, turning pinker with each smack of his hand. She grunts a little under her breath but otherwise doesn't make a sound. The more he spanks her, the more his aim moves deeper into the cleft between the parted thighs. Striking her sexual places stirs her even more and she groans from deep in her wrenching belly.
Eric stops the spanking, moves away, and takes from our closet of sex toys his favorite leather paddle. He begins striking her bottom with strong, effortless smacks, practically knocking her off balance with the first round of blows. He pauses and she rights herself, looking ready to bear whatever he dishes out. What follows is a barrage of strikes that seem to raise the temperature in the room, while they produce a hot-looking red on the girl's behind.
Her grunts become more vocal now; her looks more distressed. But from between her legs, I can see her thighs glistening from her sexual juices. She's aroused, her body quivering almost as if she's going to come. My own arousal soars seeing her suffer; I've suffered the same way at Eric's hand.
Again, he moves his aim directly into the cleft of her rear end, so that soon, the leather paddle is hitting that tender spot at the base of her bottom, and even striking the soft flesh at her center. With every strike, her body seems to billow forth with energy. She presses her chest forward toward the empty air, her nipples growing hugely erect, the pierced nipples bright pink.
I can feel her pheromones and smell the lust oozing from her body while she groans with abandon, growing hotter by the second.
Eric moves so he can smack her pussy with his paddle. Making no adjustments for strength because he's striking the most tender regions of her sex, he levels her with hard, exacting blows, stopping only to note how she moans, then emits tiny swooning cries. She's bursting at the seams as the painful pleasure rises.
"You want more?" he stops long enough to ask.
"Yes, sir, please!" she lifts her sweet, pained face heavenward.
Eric obliges her by attacking her pussy with a vengeance that seems almost demonic, as if he's settling a score known only to him.
She pants, breathlessly; her chest heaves. I can feel the strain all over her body and see how the sweat pours from her skin.
"Master, please!" she screams.
I wonder if she's at Breckenhurst in her imagination, reliving that world inside her pain.
"Please what!" he asks.
"Come, please, sir. May I come?"
Eric stops his work that instant. "No, you may not come," he brings her up short. "But you can get me off." Dropping the paddle to the floor, he moves quickly to untie the waif. I can tell that she's nearly delirious, and yet, she moves directly to the bed. Eric sheds his clothes and invites me in with the wave of his hand. Before I get there, she's already covered his rising erection with her mouth. I cover his lips with mine.
Sylvie's and my hands work their way along Eric's torso; nails scratching, palms colliding. She's like a snake, her sleek body slithering up his, meeting my mouth first where we exchange a long, deep, female kiss, before she goes down on his mouth. I slap her ass as she wiggles her crotch against my boyfriend's erection. I have a feeling that she could come like this.
But Eric rolls her off. "I want her ass, you take her tits," he says.
With Sylvie on her stomach, Eric moves in behind her and lifts her ass to his crotch. She's on hands and knees, so I scramble underneath her and slither down, threading my feet and legs through Eric's. With her nipples in front of my face, I lean up and take one pink nipple into my mouth. She smells of Patchouli; the rich, thick, exotic scent melts inside my arousal. Her skin tastes sweet, like honey. I eat away at her tits for a time, moving my mouth from one to the other and devouring them as I maul the flesh. Eric's ramming cock propels her forward in a rhythm I join. I love her sensuous sounds and the aroma of our sweat, which grows thick in the humid air around us. I feel Eric about to come as if he's inside me, meantime, my cunt leaks its fluid like a trickling brook.
"GOOD, GOD, YES!" He pumps her hard as he screams and his dick unloads, shooting his spunk, his essence, his spirit into her wide-open body.
Afterwards, she seems to wilt all over, and as Eric climbs back off the bed, he pulls the girl down to my belly and crotch. "Make her come," he snaps the order.
I'm so turned on that I practically come the instant she parts wide my lower lips and moves her tongue along my crevice. As her fingers massage the mouth of my vagina, her tongue begins to flick my distended bud. The little flower seems to burst with a sudden wave of orgasmic spasms. I'm crying while reaching for her hair and pulling hard as if I'm hanging on, pressing my groin to her mouth with unrelenting passion.
She drinks from me as the orgasm eases and the spasms die, licking up the evidence of my climax as if she's lapping up honey. I don't know if she ever came herself, although clearly, Eric doesn't care.
Our big lumpy mattress holds all three of us for the night. We clutch Sylvie for a time between us, seeming to swallow her up with our bodies. We breathe together, as if this unexpected night of sex makes us just one body, one mind and spirit. Our flesh joins; our sweat mingles; our scents collide in a heady stench of Eric's manly odors, her sweet ones, and my spicy perfume. It hardly feels strange to have this nymph between us. It's new, but hardly new, as though she's always belonged to us.
It's hard to say how long the bliss lasts before something disturbs the tranquil moment. We must doze for a while, drifting into the night. But then Eric gets up to pee and I follow him shortly afterwards. Returning to bed, we position ourselves for the night with Sylvie still between us.
It's dawn when I awaken enough to realize that the girl is gone. I wonder where. But then, I hear the rustle of something at the foot of the bed. When I sit up and peer down through the early morning gray of the room, I see the waif sleeping on the floor at the foot of the bed. She has no pillow, but has pulled my blue crocheted afghan from the chair and uses it for a blanket. Seeing that she's safe, I fall back asleep.