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You are here: Home / Archives for sexual slavery

A maidservant renders … service — #Dungeon Crawl — 04/02/14

April 1, 2014 By Trent Evans

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Greetings Dungeon Crawlers,

This week I decided to return to my fantasy erotic novel, A Lady and a Maid. In this week’s clip, we move to the Frontier and the Palace of Peace where we find Lord Andrus Westwood, his Captain, Lawrence, and their unfortunate companion, the servant, Ryndra…

* * * *

The Frontier

Lord Andrus Westwood dropped his looking glass, reclined back into the worn oaken seat ensconced in the alcove high atop the observation tower. It was probably unnecessary to use the glass in the pitch black of the night, but he thought it at least set a good example for the men on duty in the other three watchtowers. He didn’t need to be up there in the windswept heights above the sprawling Palace of Peace; any number of his men would gladly have taken watch duty for him. Something was bothering him though. It was an unease, a nagging doubt that kept him on watch — despite the fact that he outranked every soldier in the Palace.

It was his job to protect the Frontier, and until his unsettling foreboding abated, he’d do it personally.

The palace itself was the size of a small city, but from the soaring viewpoint of the tower, it was just so much scenery; a cacophony of light, sound, and smell that had no concrete form, a mass of humanity, far below. The palace was the largest of the three main hubs of the Frontier. It was constructed in response to a previous Incursion that nearly wiped out humanity. The humans that remained resolved to never again be caught unawares, undefended, and the Frontier fortifications were the result.

Standing, he stretched his tall, lanky frame, a grimace crossing his features as he worked the stiffness from his muscular legs. A gust of wind played between the four watchtowers, washing over his face, the dark whiskers of his bearded chin stirring. His deep brown eyes squinted at the cold bite of the breeze. It was time to warm up.

He picked up the hooded torch that provided his only illumination there high above the palace, using the leather hood to signal to the other towers that he was going off watch. The other towers would scan his side of the palace until his return. Every minute of warning of an impending incursion was a minute that would save lives. He knew it better than most, but all the men assigned watch duty took it extremely seriously — it was after all their families too in harm’s way below, along with everyone else.

Making his way down the dimly lit staircase that spiraled up within each of the stone watchtowers, Andrus was grateful for the shelter from the chill night breeze. He opened the door to the warm, candlelit watch quarters, his Captain, Lawrence kneeling on one of the bunks.

“Finish up with her and join me, Lawrence,” Andrus said, his lips curved in a weary smile.

“Yes, Sir,” Lawrence said, his voice labored. The captain was bent over the crouching form of a naked girl. Ryndra, the maidservant they’d brought with them to the Frontier had caught the roving eye of his captain. Plucked from her normal scullery position at Westwood, her new duties were comprised mainly of helping Andrus and his captain make their long hours on the Frontier seem a little less lonely.

Andrus appreciated the servant’s firm breasts, agile tongue and warm, soft body. Judging by the vigorous thrusting of his hips and the heavy panting of the prostrate girl, Captain Lawrence appeared to be appreciating her attributes even more.

Stripping off the studded leather armor, Andrus dropped the gleaming steel leg greaves on the floor next to the fire. He slumped into a deep, stuffed chair, his one concession to comfort that no normal soldier would be allowed. Across the room, the girl’s breathless cries rose, interspersed with groaned curses from the rutting captain.

Andrus hated his time off duty. The watch gave him something to occupy his mind, a way to stave off the melancholy that threatened to shroud him in suffocating darkness. He knew he should be concerned about the preternatural quiet all along the Frontier. Quiet was never good. But alone —or nearly so, the nearby copulating couple notwithstanding — his mind invariably went to his wife.

Miriam.

He feared she was lost to him, in spirit, if not in body. She’d changed. The vivacious, adventurous woman he’d wooed and wed as a young man, had somehow transformed herself. She was just as beautiful as she’d been then, perhaps more so, but that wasn’t what pained him. Her spirit, or more specifically, her lack of spirit was his worry. She’d grown twisted and sadistic over the years, and in that time a cold gulf had developed between husband and wife. Andrus had no quarrel with sadism — when exercised with some restraint. He enjoyed the sight of a bound woman in his bed, her ass raised high for the agony of a tight twenty with the cane. He understood well the appeal of exercising sexual dominance over another person.

But what Miriam indulged in … was something else. He had to keep close eye on her, more than a Lord should need to. She was constantly pushing limits, chafing under the limitations of his dictates. He’d even had to take a husband’s prerogative, and spank her himself a time or two. Afterward, she’d seemed more malleable, more willing to see things his way. However, all too soon, she would drift off course again, succumbing to her obsessions. He despaired that there was no going back to the Miriam he still loved, but no longer recognized. He knew that things would come to some sort of resolution upon his return to Westwood in four weeks time. He only hoped that his fears were unfounded.

The rider that had arrived with news two nights ago didn’t encourage him though. As he’d suspected, she was continuing with her unhealthy obsession with tormenting the commoner farmer, Clayton McClearn. He didn’t understand the fixation she had on him. He’d attempted to draw it out of her before his departure for the Frontier, but she’d demurred, saying his concerns were misplaced. He had offered to have McClearn summoned to Westwood for a meeting with them both, but she’d laughed off the suggestion as foolish. Frustrated, he’d left with strict instructions to her to leave the man and his family in peace. He’d have to deal with her disobedience upon his return

Lawrence, his shoulder-length blond hair swinging at his back, walked by Andrus’ chair, sitting in his own on the other side of the fire. He crossed his legs, his shirt only partially buttoned, sweat gleaming on a well-muscled chest.

“Had enough of her for now, Captain? You’ve been doing more fucking than soldiering on this trip.”

Lawrence stiffened, sitting straighter in his chair. “Milord, I—”

“Carry on,” Andrus said, waving a calming hand. “I’d rather you get it out of your system now, before something happens. I need you on the line fresh if, Gods forbid, the nocturne decide to move. And that’s another thing — it’s ‘Andrus’, out here. Ballocks to titles.”

Lawrence sat back in his chair, finishing the buttons on his shirt. “Thank you, Milord — Andrus. You know you have me, whatever comes.”

“Of that I have no doubt, Captain.” Andrus nodded, a hand extended toward the girl. “So, did she restore you?”

Lawrence smiled, his prominent canines gleamed in the candlelight, lending him the look of a satisfied wolf. “That she did.”

The girl knelt in a compact posture on the bed, a thin white cotton top her only covering. Her gleaming eyes dominated her pretty face, the orbs reflecting the flicker of the firelight.

“Come here, girl,” Andrus said, turning in his chair, beckoning her to him.

She hesitated a moment, no doubt trying to ascertain what her Lord had in mind.

“You’ve nothing to fear, girl. Come, sit with me.”

She moved to his side, her hands clasped before her, the strong smell of Lawrence’s semen mingling with the alluring musk of her sex. He drew her down upon his lap, tucking her head under his chin, a broad hand clasping the curve of her naked hip. her body was tense, her hands twisting together.

Andrus looked down upon her, a smile on his lips. “You’ve been hard used, Ryndra. You’ve naught to fear from me. Take your ease, dove.” He held her tighter to his broad chest, nuzzling the girl’s straw colored hair.

Relaxing, she sighed, laying a hand upon his breast.  “Thank you, Milord.”

He held her for a few minutes, the intent gaze of Lawrence upon Ryndra the entire time. Perhaps his randy Captain was not quite as sated as he’d initially seemed? Andrus tucked the hair back behind Ryndra’s delicate ear, his rough fingers stroking the tender flesh of her earlobe.

“Do you need me to take watch, Sir?” Lawrence sat forward as if to rise, a deliberate nod of his head toward Ryndra.

Andrus shook his head, his lowered hand signaling the Captain to stay.

Lawrence sat back once more, his long fingers drumming the handle of his chair. “Anything new on the towers?”
Andrus shrugged, his hand caressing the breathtakingly soft cheek of the girl in his lap. She was a lovely girl indeed, and not for the first time, he was glad his Captain had pressed her to come along on the trip. His cock began to stir, and despite the fact that Ryndra was nearly half his age, he didn’t feel like fighting the rise of his desire. It was a way not to think. It meant he hadn’t succumbed to his melancholy.

Yet.

“Turn, girl. No, facing your Captain.”

Her limbs were tense, but she obeyed, allowing Andrus to splay her thighs open upon his. Her sex was fully exposed, something not lost on Lawrence, whose possessive gaze took in the lovely sight.

“What did I miss while I was up in the clouds freezing my balls off, Lawrence?”

The captain’s gaze rose, but just for a moment. “Laird’s patrol is late.”

Andrus snorted. “So, in other words, the usual.”

Lawrence nodded, sitting forward, his elbows braced on his thighs, his gaze focused once more on the girl’s displayed pussy.

“Maybe not so usual, Andrus. He’s two days late.”

That was something else entirely. “Did he take the northern leg?”

“Aye.”

Andrus slipped a broad hand down over the girl’s sex, the seething heat of her flesh hot against his palm. She stiffened in his clutch as he ground the heel of his hand against her clit.

“She likes that,” Lawrence said, smiling.

“So she does,” Andrus murmured. He kissed the girl’s ear, and she turned her head toward his lips.

“I’ve a retrieval party out looking for them,” Lawrence said, his posture straight, his flies straining against a now obvious erection. “But the last time any patrol was more than a day overdue, they never returned.”

“Did his route take him as far as The Ford?” The girl inhaled sharply as Andrus slipped a finger into the soft sheath of her pussy.

“It was supposed to, but we’ve had riders arrive from there saying they never laid eyes on him.”

“If I know Laird, he’s probably passed out drunk, knee deep in slave girls. Isn’t there a House Nightshade at The Ford?”

“Aye, but I doubt that’s where he hides. We’d have heard something. That man is as subtle as a storm. Somebody would have talked.”

Andrus thrust a second finger into Ryndra’s clenching sex, the girl moaning at the stretching. She was so petite that he had little doubt her narrow passage was sore tested by the width of his thick questing digits. The wet sound of his fingers plundering her increased in volume as he thrust faster, the girl shifting in his lap, her hand clasped around his corded forearm.

“Do I need to bind you?” His voice rumbled against her hair. “You know better.” 

She shook her head, dropping her hand from his arm.

“Good girl. I think I have a better use for those hands of yours. Lift your shirt.”

She turned her head to look at him, her blue eyes uncertain, the corners of her pretty lips turned down.

“Do as I say, Ryndra. I shouldn’t have to ask twice.”

Her hands flew to the snug hem of the cotton, lifting it slowly.

“All the way now, let your Captain see those breasts of yours. Perhaps he’ll want to suckle them? You’ll let him if he does.”

She turned her face from Lawrence, nuzzling her head under Andrus’ bearded chin, her cheeks flushed scarlet.

“Good”, Andrus said, making sure the fabric was clear above the swells of her youthful bosom. Her high breasts were not large, but were perfectly suited to her petite frame. The nipples were a deep pink, the areolas crinkled. He stroked the tender flesh with a finger, watching the nipple draw tight.

“Andrus … ” Lawrence moved to stand, his hands moving at his flies.

“Go to him, dove,” Andrus whispered into her ear. “Serve him well. I’ll be watching.”

She slipped from his lap to kneel before the Captain. Her hands went between his legs, and Andrus watched her slowly move her head as she took Lawrence into her mouth. Her round little bottom swayed as her movements became urgent, the clutch of the Captain’s hands in her long hair growing more insistent.

Andrus could wait no longer, his cock painfully twisted in his trousers. He stood, opening his flies and moved to stand close behind the girl, gazing upon her as she serviced the Captain. Her lips were stretched tight around Lawrence’s cock as she bobbed up and down the stiff shaft, gleaming saliva leaking from the corners of her mouth. Andrus lay a hand against her hollowed cheek, caressing her, and she moaned around the hard shaft. Lawrence gritted his teeth, his hands clasping her hair in two fists.

Andrus nodded to Lawrence, and the Captain used her hair to pull her off of his cock. She peered up at him, confused.

“My Lord, what can I—”

Lawrence sat down again, drawing her between his thighs, his fist entwined in her blonde tresses. His long, wet cock bobbed as he shifted forward, and she bent over him. The posture threw out her lovely soft bottom, beckoning Andrus. He dropped to his knees behind her, and laid the throbbing shaft of his penis across her buttock. She froze.

“Keep going, Ryndra. I didn’t tell you to stop,” Lawrence said, his voice thick. He pulled her further downward onto his cock, and she gagged as it struck the back of her throat.

Andrus ran his hands over the girl’s bottom, savoring the silky smoothness of her flesh. She had surprisingly generous buttocks for so slight a girl. He squeezed one of the globes, enjoying the feel of its soft weight in his hand. She wriggled her hips at him, and he slapped her bottom in response. The muscles of her trim thighs clenched at the sting, and she murmured around the Captain’s cock.

Andrus placed a palm on each of her cheeks and yawned them apart, fully exposing her charms to his gaze. The cleft was still slick with oil, her dainty rosette an inflamed, swollen red, still gaping open slightly. The Captain’s semen leaked down from the well-used opening, her perineum wet with his seed.

Andrus chuckled, glancing up at Lawrence. “No wonder she was making so much noise.”

Lawrence grinned, the cords of muscle standing out on his neck, his face flushed.

Andrus moved his hard cock down, the broad head leaving a sticky trail across her buttock. His cock brushed her cleft, the meatus just kissing the girl’s sore bottom hole, and she tightened.

“Easy, dove,” Andrus said, his hand stroking the curve of her hip. “Your Captain has served you well there already. I want something different.”

He drew the head of his cock through the soft folds of Ryndra’s pussy, up, then down. She moaned around the Captain, who growled at her to keep sucking.

Andrus eased forward until his cock was bedded fully, his hard legs tight against her trembling thighs. She shuddered against him, the sounds of her sucking the Captain’s cock filling the room.

“Gods! This cunt is tight.” He thrust languidly, gazing at his shaft glistening with her juices as it pistoned in and out of her sex. He leaned his head back, closing his eyes, inhaling deeply of her scent.

Lawrence grunted, thrusting his hips quickly, Ryndra gagging again as he drove deep. Andrus grasped her around her incredibly narrow waist, pulling her more fully onto him. The two men pounded into her, rocking her slight body between them.

The first to break, Lawrence held her face down upon him as he groaned out his climax. She coughed and sputtered when he finally let her up off of his spent cock, the brisk thrusting of Andrus continuing to jostle her.

Andrus held out little longer than the Captain. The Lord groaned, his balls tingling as he poured his seed into her. He kneaded the girl’s buttocks as he knelt over her, panting.

Taking a handful of Ryndra’s long blonde hair, Lawrence used it to clean his flaccid cock, leaving her with a pat on her flushed cheek. She hung her head, trembling, waiting for Andrus to catch his breath. He finally released her with a gentle smack to her bottom, and he stood, tucking himself back into his flies. He watched her pull her shirt back down over her breasts, glancing up at him as she did so.

He smiled at her, nodding his head. She inclined her head in reply, and retreated to the bunk she’d come from, curling up on her side to rest, the swollen lips of her pussy glistening with his semen.

Andrus slumped back into his chair, taking a deep drag of mead from the cup Lawrence offered. He stared into the dancing orange hues of the popping fire, wondering again what to do with his Miriam. What was she up to? Why did he feel guilty for using the servant girl, when he had a very good idea of what Miriam got up to with the servants in his absence?

Lastly, he wondered where in God’s name that idiot Laird had gone…

* * * *

I just realized that there is very little actual BDSM in this clip … which is quite unlike me. Hmm. Hopefully, you’ll excuse me for being off my perv game this week. (I’m sure nobody actually read this far anyway, but if you did, thank you:)

Now, please take a few minutes to visit the other blogs sharing their depravity with us this week.

Happy Crawling!

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Filed Under: Dungeon Crawl Blog Hop Tagged With: A Lady and a Maid, BDSM erotic romance, books, D/s, D/s erotica, dubious consent, Epic Fantasy Erotica, excerpt, forced exhibitionism, forced oral sex, menage, MFM menage, sexual slavery, Trent Evans erotica

“Sophie’s Ordeal Continues…” — Dungeon Crawl Blog Hop

March 11, 2014 By Trent Evans

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Hello Dungeon Crawlers,

This week, I’m continuing with more from the depravity filled epic-fantasy erotica title A Lady And A Maid. The two noblewomen from last week, Lady Miriam and her friend Countess Sandra, have just pulled Miriam’s plaything from her cage…

* * * *

[Read more…]

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Filed Under: Dungeon Crawl Blog Hop Tagged With: A Lady and a Maid, bdsm erotica, breast discipline, breast punishment, corporal punishment, D/s, Dominance and submission, dubious consent, Dungeon Crawl Blog Hop, Epic Fantasy Erotica, erotica excerpt, F/F BDSM, forced exhibitionism, Master/slave, needle play, pain, sexual slavery, Trent Evans

“An evening’s diversion for two ladies of quality” — Dungeon Crawl Blog Hop

March 4, 2014 By Trent Evans

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Hello Dungeon Crawlers,

It’s the second week?!? How did we last this long? Well, miracles never cease:)

This week, I’m continuing from the depravity filled epic-fantasy erotica title A Lady And A Maid. The two noblewomen from last week, Lady Miriam and her friend Countess Sandra, have just witnessed a bracing (and arousing) public whipping of an errant wife by her stern husband.

Now, they’ve moved inside the hushed sanctum of the inner keep for more … intimate pursuits.

* * * *

Westwood Manor

“What’s she done to deserve this, Miriam?” Sandra, her rouged lips pursed, glanced over at her friend.

Miriam strolled over from her great mirror and stood close to her friend, affectionately clasping an arm around her waist, her shapely dark-haired form pressed to Sandra’s side.

“Oh, she still has this silly idea that she gets some say as to what, or more to the point, whom she lays with,” the handsome lady said, wagging a long beringed finger up and down dismissively. “She’s being shown the error of her ways.”
[Read more…]

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Filed Under: Dungeon Crawl Blog Hop Tagged With: A Lady and a Maid, bdsm erotica, BDSM fiction excerpt, caging, captivity, dubious consent, Epic Fantasy Erotica, F/F BDSM, forced exhibitionism, sexual slavery, Trent Evans erotica

New Release – Night Beach by Trent Evans

October 12, 2012 By Trent Evans

Hello everyone!

My new release Night Beach is on the shelves. It’s  a novella length (approx 22000 words) contemporary BDSM title that follows a day and night in the life of three people looking to take their relationship to a new level of intimacy. I hope you check it out.

As always, if you read and liked it, please leave a review with your preferred retailer. These reviews are hugely helpful to authors, and will help us get you more of the stories you love 🙂

Best,

Trent Evans

New BDSM erotica release!

Night Beach

————————————————————————————————-

(Contemporary BDSM erotica)

A Dominion Trust story.

What is a modern, independent woman to do when the only thing she truly wants is to be enslaved? Erica, a young, beautiful college student is looking for that something which speaks to what she truly is deep down inside. Is it possible to finally find peace, even happiness within the strict bonds of utter submission?

When Blaine a powerful, successful businessman realizes he and his wife are ready for something new, a deeper exploration of the love and lust they’ve shared as husband and wife, the naive, fetching Erica enters the picture. As a member of the Dominion Trust, Blaine has seen the unique energy of other couples who’ve taken a submissive into their beds, and into their lives.

Blaine’s wife Kathryn, a fiercely driven executive in her own right submits to her husband in all things, but as the years have gone by, new needs, darker desires are stirred within her. Is she ready for a submissive of her own? Is their D/s marriage ready for a third, a slave, to join with them?

In this story, three people come together to find out if happiness really can be found in the complicated dance of dominance and submission, pain and pleasure of a BDSM menage relationship.

Warning – this contemporary BDSM novella contains the following:

D/s, Spanking, Paddling, bondage, clamps, sadomasochism, rough explicit sex (MF and FF), and a young, wide-eyed woman exploring the depths of her submission.

Note – This is a novella. Word count: approximately 22000 words

For mature readers only.

Available through:

Amazon (Kindle)

Amazon UK (Kindle)

Barnes & Noble (Nook)

Smashwords (Apple, Sony, Diesel, Microsoft Reader, Palm) – Coming soon!

All Romance (various formats) 

Kobo (various formats)

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Filed Under: On Writing Tagged With: BDSM, bdsm erotica, books, clamps, D/s, Dominance and submission, Dominion Trust BDSM series, dubious consent, FF, forced exhibitionism, Lesbian BDSM, literature, menage, MF, MFF erotica, New Release, paddling, pain, pain and pleasure, sadomasochism, sexual slavery, spanking, successful businessman, The Dominion Trust, utter submission

Excerpt from upcoming release Night Beach by Trent Evans

September 26, 2012 By Trent Evans

Hello everyone,

First, I must apologize for the delay in updating the blog. Real life has prevented me from posting much of late, and it just hasn’t been feasible to get back to the blog until now. I will do my best to get things back on schedule.

My newest book Night Beach is somewhat of an experiment. It is the first in a planned series of connected stories that will reveal different personalities and aspects of the Dominion Trust. There are several other stories either mostly written or fully sketched out, but the order and number of the stories will really depend on the readers. If they hate them, and want something else, it may be a rather short series. We shall see 😉

The first couple rounds of edits are almost done, so this thing should be buttoned up and ready for the beta readers by this weekend (about three weeks later than originally planned, unfortunately). As a result, the book likely won’t be released until the first or second week of October. I will get it out sooner if at all possible, but at this point, it’s looking doubtful.

Until then, I’ve included an excerpt below (please excuse any errors, as editing is not quite finished). Have a look and let me know what you think!

Best,

Trent

*****

EXCERPT –

Night Beach by Trent Evans

Erica was one night away from fulfilling her lifelong dream — becoming a slave. Why does a modern, free woman seek to give away her liberty? To fritter it away in pursuit of that one state of being, that singular experience that is true submission to another’s will?

Standing at the floor-to-ceiling window, she felt lost in the immense room, lost within herself. There were people outside, far below on the beach, walking along the car-choked road crowded on both sides with businesses all jockeying for the same tourist dollar. Atop the hill, nestled among Douglas fir and towering Western Hemlock, the sprawling house — her temporary prison — surveyed all.

The late afternoon sun hit the water at just the right angle, the light captured, reflected, transforming the blue green, foam-flecked ocean into the mottled iridescence of flowing, molten metal. Erica had always loved the sea, and though she’d lived most of her life within ninety miles of it, she could count on one hand the number of times she’d actually seen it. Every time, it took her breath away; the enormity of it; that confirmation, at once humbling and freeing, of just how small and insignificant a human being really was.

“Come to the ocean to be . . . not free,” she whispered. “You should have listened to Mom.”

A mother’s job is to protect her young, and Erica remembered that night she’d told her mother she’d be taking a break from school. There were the questions, the suspicions, all of it overlaid with the unspoken fear a good mother feels when her young, naive children stray from carefully laid parental plans.

Erica found those plans nothing less than a numbing path to invisibility, the captivity of normal expectations; she sought captivity of quite another sort.

No, mom, it’s not because of a boy. Erica couldn’t really tell her could she? Some things just can’t be processed.

No mom, it’s not because of a boy. It’s because of a boy. . .and a girl.

When your life has been meticulously arranged, managed by your parents all the way from diapers to term papers, you’re going to be taking some flack when you decide to quit said college — and Erica took a lot of it.

Worse than her worried mother though, had been the stone-cold silence from her father. He wouldn’t even talk to her. It was like something you’d watch in a Lifetime movie: daughter delivers Big Reveal; seething Father, brow properly furrowed, stalks off accompanied by mournful piano score. End scene.

Erica didn’t blame him, of course — not one bit. She’d have been livid if she’d been in their shoes. But they didn’t really know, couldn’t really understand. How do you explain the appeal of subjugation; the frisson of lust a girl experiences amidst diabolically cruel humiliation; the soaring, otherworldly high following the searing pain of a caning? Trying to explain that to her loving parents would be about as successful as attempting to teach algebra to a toddler.

So she ran. It had been six months since that night.

The door opened behind her, but she stayed rooted to her spot, gazing out at the freedom just beyond the glass. The elegant maid Eva had said she’d be up soon to deliver Erica’s “meal”. How bread and water was regarded as a meal, Erica would never understand.

She’d been warned though. Sir had outlined to her over the phone what accommodations she could expect at the beach house, and part of her at least (that unthinking part south of her waist), really didn’t mind the idea of mealtime-as-penance. As long as it was by his direction, by their direction, she’d obey. . .and want even more.

Down there, a lazy summer evening unfolded, the crisp, salt-scented wind banishing any trace of the afternoon’s summer heat; Erica, the tall, lonely bird, caught in her gilded cage looked on, at once wistful and grateful. Her keen vision could pick out the red flash of color as someone slid across a sheen of waterlogged sand on a boogie board. Much further out she could see the white smudge of a low-slung cabin cruiser, bobbing as it drew too near to the surf zone.

Then a moment before she felt it, she saw the slight movement, the black color out of the corner of her eye, reflected in the thick double pane of the huge plate glass window. She moved to turn, but a hand pressed to her upper back, pushing her against the cold plane of the window. Nipples stiffened under the thin blouse, her chest against the hard glass. “Stay right there. Hands on the window.”

It was him! Her heart hammered in her chest, her hands shaking. She put her heated palms against the cool glass.

“Higher.”

She ran them along the smooth surface, grateful for something to mask her shakes.

“Mm, so tall,” he murmured, standing close behind her. His cologne wafted over her, along with something else.

Smoke?

“You stay right where you are, Erica. I’m taking a shower. Need to get this fucking cigarette smell off of me.” He pressed the solid length of his body to her back, the bulge at his crotch against her buttocks. “If I come back to find you’ve moved one inch, I’ll be giving that cute ass of yours a beating earlier than I’d planned.”

His lips nuzzled her earlobe, his stubble rough against her skin. Then he was gone, leaving her trembling against the glass, held as fast as if he’d bound her in truth. She wondered what one of those summer tourists would see if they but turned to look up the wooded hill? Could they spot the slim woman spreading herself against the window as if she were being frisked? The sudden mental image of Sir’s big hands roughly manhandling her vulnerable flesh sent her clit humming. She knew the locals would smile knowingly, moving on with the remainder of their day.

Blaine Forster meant as much to the town as ten thousand tourists did, and the long-time residents knew it. So what if the rumors of what went on at his stunning vacation home occasionally drew raised eyebrows and clucking tongues? Those who knew him, knew what he represented, understood when it was wise to make an issue, and when it was prudent to simply move on with life.

“I’ll just leave your lunch for you here.” Erica nearly jumped out of her shoes. The maid. How had she missed the woman’s entry?

Erica heard a tray laid down on the wood of the bar. She smiled. Only someone as loaded as Blaine would feel the need to have a fucking bar in his bedroom. “Ah, thank you Eva. I—”

“No need to explain, Erica.” The satisfaction in the woman’s soft voice made Erica want to crawl under the bed as her face burned. She heard the door close behind her, grateful that the maid had not shown up later — though she had no real idea what was coming later.

Fighting the absurdly strong urge to turn to look at her meager repast, she kept herself plastered to the glass like a perp thrown against a convenient wall by a cop to be searched and cuffed.

She assumed the cuffs would be coming out later.

The sun had lowered considerably, its waning, filtered light shining directly into the room. Erica wondered at the shadow her body must have cast on the wall behind her. Alas, she didn’t dare turn to look at it. Yes, the idea of Blaine whipping her ass didn’t exactly sound all bad, but she hadn’t yet summoned up enough courage to defy one of his orders outright. Besides, she knew she wasn’t a brat; she found it a richer, far more exciting experience to obey him . . . in everything.

So there she stood, watching the daytime world slowly give way to that of the night. She grew up in Portland, Oregon, and she remembered the remarkable transformation that occurred in downtown on the weekends. Where during the daylight hours there were the business suits, the tasteful, stylish skirts, the occasional garishly dressed hippie bucking the staid conformity of the business day, those gave way to the night — and an entirely different city seemingly grew right out of the ground. There were the street kids, the slumming, BMW driving teenagers, the punks, wanna-be gangbangers, the hookers — she’d even once seen a man walking across Ankeny wearing nothing but a pair of assless chaps.

That concept of two beings in one had stayed with her, for it was something she felt keenly. She’d given up trying to relate to friends swooning over the romantic dinner their boyfriends had taken them on, when her idea of “romance” was to be bent naked and bound over the back of her couch to be spanked and fucked. She’d ceased arguing with friends who’d used sex as a tool, leverage to be used against boyfriends that she generally found rather nice (though there were one or two douchebags as well, truth be told).

The very idea of withholding sex seemed. . .alien to her. Erica couldn’t really get enough of it, as long as it was kinky — preferably depraved. She liked giving pleasure, and her drive, her urge to serve had always unnerved her. Her mother tutted at Erica when she deferred to others, strived, often at her expense, to make others feel better. She loved taking care of people — and that drive naturally extended into her sexuality.

The blue white of arc-sodium streetlights randomly flickered on below. The coastal road was almost gridlocked with vehicles, a single, poor police car, strobes and blues flashing, crawling up through the mess. It surprised her to see only one cop on the night of the Fourth of July, but then again, the night had barely begun. People from the valley would be flooding in, and the cops would have more pressing matters to attend to than directing traffic. Up in her world though, none of that mattered, really, for her concern was only for him . . . and for her. It was a big night, and she just hoped she didn’t fuck it all up.

“You’re a good girl.”

Erica had been leaning against the window, her shoulders burning, and she straightened at his voice.

Glass clinked together somewhere behind her,  a mass of humanity gathered down below her, preparing to celebrate.

“Do you remember our first meeting, Erica?” She felt him moving close behind her. Her arms trembled with the fatigue of holding them up for so long.

“Of course.”

A finger tapped her shoulder. “Don’t ‘of course’ me, girl.”

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

“I’ll let it slide, but only because my fearsome wife hasn’t arrived yet.”

“She’s coming . . . here?” Erica gulped, thinking ‘fearsome’ to be a particularly apt description for her strict Mistress.

“Mm hmm,” Blaine said sipping from his drink, and leaning his back against the window, letting her see him. His close-cropped hair, white t-shirt and muscular arms made him look more like a mixed  martial arts fighter than an executive, but she knew he purposely eschewed the look of a “suit.” The fact that he owned this house and close to a dozen other properties in this town alone confirmed he was every bit as successful in business as she had no doubt he’d be in an octagon.

He cocked his head. “Why the face? I thought you’d be happy.”

“I—I just didn’t know, Sir.”

His eyes glinted, and he smiled over the rim of his glass. Though he looked like he could tear phone books in half with his hands, his eyes gave the whole game away. It was what struck her that first night, and it still struck her now. Despite the fact that he was her Sir, commanded her obedience, those eyes of his held such warmth, such kindness. She’d not realized how much her life needed those two things until the night she’d agreed to let her friend Cam set her up to meet a friend. Cam knew what kind of man Erica was after, and when she’d first gazed in those hazel depths, and seen the playfulness, the caring, she thought maybe Cam had known more than she’d let on.

“You’ll have to get used to that.” He winked at her, shrugging. “I don’t know where she is half the time, either.”

Erica smiled. “Yes, Sir.”

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see Kathryn — quite the opposite, really. But the woman was a lot to take in, a trial to be sure — and Erica wanted to be ready for her. She was attracted to the cold beauty of her Mistress, like a supplicant to a cruel Goddess. She craved kneeling at her feet, wringing whatever kindness she could from the smallest of gestures from the aloof woman. Those  kindnesses gave Erica pure joy — perhaps because such things from her Mistress were so very rare.

Truth was sometimes hard for Erica to come to grips with, and in this case she knew it wasn’t just that fleeting kindness she craved from her Mistress. No, she needed the other part of her, needed that darkness, that willingness to revel in Erica’s pain, take pleasure in her humiliation. It was only with Kathryn, did Erica realize fully what she was, what she’d been all along but hadn’t the words to describe it.

Blaine’s hand reached out, molding itself around her ribcage, stroking the fabric of her blouse. His touch sent a ticklish electricity through her skin. “You do remember that night don’t you?”

“Every second, Sir.”

“Then you know what I want you to do, don’t you?”

She shot a glance at Blaine. “Now?”

Lips tight and jaw firm, he nodded slowly, light dancing in his eyes.

She unbuttoned the blouse quickly, keeping her eyes on the task, not trusting her trembling fingers to complete the job without direct supervision.

His hand patted her ass, and he walked away. She turned toward him, slipping the last button and pulling the blouse from her slacks.

“No, turn back around.”

“Blaine—”

He glared at her, his jaw clenched.

“Sorry. It’s just that . . .they’ll see.”

“And what if they do, Erica?”

She inhaled, her breath shaky. “I don’t. . . know.”

“That’s something else you’d better get used to, girl. If you really want to do this, be mine, that body is going to be on display. A lot.”

He was at her back once more, his lips touching her cheek, kissing the smooth flesh at the join of shoulder and neck. “Yes, I think you’ll have some adjusting to do won’t you?

“Yes, Sir.” Her hands clutched both sides of the blouse. She was grateful for something to hold on to, her fingers trembled so.

His arm reached around her, the warm hand sliding up her belly. Fingers worked at her bra, releasing the front clasp in moments, the lace falling away to let cool air caress her breasts. “How will you react when we make you walk down a city street in a skin tight shirt but no bra? Your hard nipples on display for everyone to see?”

Clutching them both in his big hands, he squeezed her breasts firmly. “I think we’ll make you wear some nice tall heels too. Get those hips rolling and these tits bouncing.”

She dropped her eyes as her deep blush traveled down her neck, the flushing evident even on the slopes of the breasts still clutched in his big hands.

“I love your reactions,” he murmured, kissing the corner of her mouth. “You can’t hide anything from me, you know.”

“Yes, Sir.” She didn’t want to hide anything from him — ever. She only hoped it would be enough, her submission the key that would unlock his heart to her.

He spun her around, forcing her chest against the window. His hands pulled the blouse and loose bra out to the sides and she gasped as her breasts made contact with the cold glass.

“Don’t you dare move,” he growled. He clawed at her slacks, yanking them down along with her black thong.

“Sir, wait I—”

“Shh, just be a good girl. Obey me.”

Breathing labored, heart racing, she closed her eyes against the embarrassment of it. She felt as if every eye down below was trained upon her now, watching the girl with her naked boobs squashed against the window.

Urging her to lift each foot in turn, he slipped off her heels. His hands massaged the grooves the straps left in her flesh, then pulled her slacks completely off. Naked from the waist down, she fought the insanely powerful urge to bring her hands down to cover her pussy. They could see everything!

“Spread your legs.”

His hard hand stung her ass, and she tried to ignore the embarrassing jiggle of her flesh. “Wider.”

She moved her feet shoulder width apart, trying to ignore the image of what she must look like, the dark patch of pubic hair drawing the eye like a beacon to the sex nestled between pale thighs.

Strong hands gripped her buttocks, kneading the flesh. “God, I thought about this ass all day long.”

Erica’s breath hitched as his fingers dipped into the valley between the cheeks, stroking the velvet flesh of her bottom hole.

“I had Jack Weber giving me construction estimates for the new server farm, and all I could think about was being inside you, fucking this wet cunt.”

A hand smacked against her soft labia, and she yelped. Despite the sting, she could feel the slickness of her sex increase by the second. He always knew how to touch her — just that right mix of roughness, possessiveness. His fingers spread her labia apart, the air cool on her heated inner flesh. Two thick fingers slid in, sinking deep into her wetness, and a low moan escaped her lips.

“All ready I see,” he chuckled, planting a light kiss behind her ear. “Soon enough, bad girl. Soon enough.”

There was a sound of a zipper lowering.

No, not here. No fucking way!

Erica turned, dropping her hands from the glass, moving to step around him. “Wait, not—”

His hand clasped her upper arm in a bruising grip, his other hand grabbing her by the hair, pulling her up short. “What are you doing?” His voice was so quiet she had to strain to hear it.

“I can’t do that . . . there.”

Blaine’s hazel eyes locked with hers, boring into her, searching. She saw the warmth there, warring with the lust, the need to control, to own her. He kissed her, hard, his tongue plundering her mouth even as his fist twisted further in her hair, holding her fast. He bit her lip, sucked on her tongue, the almost imperceptible growling from deep in his chest making her pussy spasm.

“You’ll do what I tell you, girl. No questions.”

“Sir, I’m sorry, it’s just—

A finger, scented with her juices pressed its wet length across her mouth, silencing her.

“What happens to girls who disobey? Slaves who disobey?”

Erica knew this was right, had fantasized about this as long as she could remember. It had felt like a dream come true meeting a man like Blaine. But sometimes it unnerved her, the reality of her submission more raw, more intense than even the darkest of her fantasies. She reveled in it even as she tried to flee from it. Flee from the woman she was deep inside . . . the slave who craved this.

She whimpered as he jerked her head, the sensitive roots of her hair protesting.

“I’m waiting.”

“Slaves are — punished, Sir.”

“That’s correct.” His voice lowered, the sound vibrating in her chest, through her pussy. “And do you deserve to be punished?”

No! Yes! I don’t fucking know!

“Yes . . . Sir.”

“Good. You will be.” He released her hair, and pointed at the bed. “Bend over the side of the mattress and wait for me.”

Copyright © 2012, Trent Evans

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Filed Under: On Writing Tagged With: BDSM, D/s, erotica excerpt, MFF erotica, Night Beach, sexual slavery, The Dominion Trust, Trent Evans, Trent Evans erotica, upcoming release, western hemlock

30 Days of Kink: Day 6

May 28, 2012 By Trent Evans

Describe your weirdest/most interesting sexual fantasy.

Define weirdest . A lot of what I’ve written thus far in my 30 Days of Kink (please check out the excellent blog Molly’s Daily Kiss for a list of the 30 Days) could certainly be construed as “weird”. For instance, I really like ponygirls; a lot of people think this is weird at best, crazier than a shithouse rat at worst. Oh well, it takes all kinds right? Let’s set aside weird  for now.

The most interesting fantasy of mine is the all-encompassing BDSM “world” or society. But there are two tracks to this world. In a practical, physical sense it would be a place where my kinks (and Lord, I have a lot of them) are part of the very fabric of everyday life.

Master/slave relationships (monogamous, poly, you name it) open and accepted by society? Check.

Ponygirl driven conveyances in place of cars, or slave-girls used as a muscle-powered source of motive force? Why not?

A political/legal/societal structure that inherently supports and incorporates BDSM? Uh, yes please.

In other words, this is a world I’d love to live in (as a Dom). I might have some reservations about it were I a sub – but many of them would love it anyway <evil grin>

The other track concerns the psychological and emotional underpinnings of this fantasy world. The ability to get into the head of a submissive/slave is, of course, fantasy. As much as I’d love it, I am not psychic nor telepathic. But this interesting fantasy world incorporates those aspects. There would be no safewords; the Master is in his slave’s mind. He knows what she feels, what she can take…and what she needs.

Her desires and fears; strengths and vulnerabilities – all would be open and available to him. He would use them to help her experience a life that us mere mortals stranded here in Mundania (loves me some Xanth…) could only dream about.

The thing is, while this is the most interesting of my fantasies,  it’s really not that weird or unusual. Parts of this fantasy have been explored by various authors:

Anne Rice (writing as A.N. Roquelaure) explored the idea of an entire fantasy society based on sexual slavery with the Beauty series.

Anneke Jacob, in what is probably my favorite single erotic work, Owned and Owner, depicts a society on another world far in the future that enshrines abject sexual slavery (no safewords here, let me tell you) in a very real, gritty, ground-level sense.

Sadey Quinn ably takes the reader on an intimate journey through a BDSM world within a world in her Rock Creek series beginning with Under Order.

Joey W Hill, perhaps better than any other erotic romance/erotica writer, gets into the psychological/emotional aspects of this fantasy with her Vampire Queen series.  She shows just a taste of what might be possible with the naked intimacy of a telepathic connection between the Dom and sub.

I cite these works as examples of some of the parts of this fantasy; there is of course more to it than this, but that would require taking a ride with gentleman Charon through the twisted Tarterus of Trent’s psyche (+1 alliteration!!). I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy;)

Nobody to my knowledge has combined all of these elements into a single work or story arc…yet. Perhaps I should get on that, yes?

Until Day 7!

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Filed Under: Trent's Thoughts Tagged With: BDSM society, Dominance and submission, Master/slave, no safeword, Owned and Owner, polyamorous BDSM, ponygirls, Rock Creek, secret BDSM world, sexual slavery, Sleeping Beauty trilogy, telepathy, Under Order, Vampire Queen series, Xanth

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Sites Trent Loves

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1950s Wife
Behind The Chintz Curtain
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Sue Lyndon - Author
Tara Finnegan - Author
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Michael Manning - Artist

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