Read the BLURB:
Take one adorable suburban couple just starting to realize their D/s relationship isn't quite enough to satisfy. Add one cute and quirky sub who can't seem to find a Dom to suit her tastes. Place them in a room full of sex toys and candlight, roses and chains...
After a few more smoking hot nights of pleasure and exploration, all three just might find what they're looking for.
EXCERPT (OVER 18 ONLY)
It hurt to come, and Mara screamed again as the flogger continued to drum against her. She craved the feel of fingers or a cock or something inside her, and the climax ramped higher and higher and felt almost spiteful because it wouldn’t let her go and it didn’t satisfy.
Then there was a second sharp peak, and after it ebbed she finally achieved a resolution of sorts, a release that wasn’t quite the relief she had sought. But Amie pulled her down from the cross and into her arms, letting Mara weep into her honeysuckle-scented curls.
And she didn’t say “I told you so”.
A few minutes later, Mara was seated on the floor next to Amie’s chair. As she dutifully finished off a bottle of water and plucked idly at one of Amie’s bootlaces, the Domme leaned down and pressed an unexpected kiss to the top of her former sub’s head. Then she handed her a business card. Mara took the card and stared at it for a moment before looking up at Amie.
“Somebody gave it to me. But I think you need it more than I do, sweetie. You’re just barely holding it together, aren’t you?”
Mara wanted to crumple the little white oblong into a ball and throw it back at Amie, but she knew her frustration wasn’t the Domme’s fault. It was her own. She looked at the card for another long moment before answering carefully.
“I’m sorry if I didn’t please you tonight, Mistress. It was very kind of you to—”
“Don’t. Don’t bullshit me. We were never like that.” Amie gave a sharp little sigh and pulled her ankle from Mara’s reach, then stood up and tucked a finger under Mara’s chin to force her eyes upward. Mara was too well-trained to jerk away, no matter how much she wanted to.
“Honey, we had a good time here in the club. It never worked outside, and we both knew that. But we gave it a good try, and I can respect that. What I cannot respect,” she said with a soft little faux slap against Mara’s cheek, “is a sub who plays passive-aggressive bullshit games, and won’t let herself get what she needs from the arrangement.”
Mara knew better than to apologize. She bit down on the automatic “I’m sorry” and nodded her head.
“I’m not sure what you need, Mara. And I don’t think you’re sure either. But there’s no reason to feel bad about that. It’s brave just to be out there trying. You don’t need to beat yourself up for not figuring it out faster.”
“I know. I know.”
“Especially not when there are so many people who would be thrilled to do that beating for you.”
She couldn’t help but smile, and Amie grinned back, the million-megawatt, slightly evil smile that attracted subs from miles away. The prom queen has decided she wants to whip your ass…you’ll take it and like it, so bend over. Mara had been one of the first in line, and would never regret the experience.
But Amie really had been a popular former prom queen, and Mara really had been a disaffected, Indie-rock-listening, former Goth girl. And though they’d tried to find some common ground outside their scenes, it had simply never gelled.
“Mistress, may I worship your boot?” A groveling young man in a studded black leather thong had knelt down near Mara at Amie’s feet. It happened all the time, and Mara knew to just wait. She didn’t blame him. She felt much the same about Amie, even though they were no longer together and she wasn’t a boot fetishist.
This one made the mistake, though, of making a move before he had received permission. He was already leaning in, mouth open, when Amie spoke.
"Move that tongue any closer to my boot, little worm, and you’ll be thrown out of this club for a month.”
Then she turned back to Mara, ignoring the man, who was smart enough to squirm away without another word. He did whimper, however. He had almost certainly enjoyed the rebuke on some level.
“Pushy asshole. Look, just call the number. I trust the person who gave it to me. And I wouldn’t give it to you if I didn’t think it would help. It’s worth a shot, anyway. So be brave, okay? And I’ll call you tomorrow to check up on you.”
With another little pat to Mara’s cheek, Amie was gone, strolling away across the main floor of the club like the Queen of the Dommes, off to review her subjects.
Leaving Mara alone to consider the merits of calling the number on the little white card.
She looked at it again and frowned.
“1-800-DOM-help? What the fuck?”