Shiloh Saddler Discusses Ancient Rome (@ShilohSaddler) #erotica #menage

tourbutton_privatepleasureI’d like to thank K.D Grace for having me on her blog today. I usually write GLBT stories set in the 19th century U.S. Private Pleasure is a little different.

After reading a lot of stories set in Ancient Rome, I decided to finally write my own. Private Pleasure is my first ménage. It is a smoking hot historical romance set in the Roman Republic. In Ancient Rome, sexual pleasure was often indulged. If a man didn’t want to take a wife yet he could shower favors on a concubine. Throughout much of the ancient roman era, it was perfectly acceptable for a powerful, wealthy man to take a wife and share his bed with other women at the same time. A man could hire whores, bed his servants, and legally have a wife without any censure. However, due to Christian influences, it became illegal for a man to have a concubine and a wife at the same time. Although debauchery continued it was frowned upon. I set my book during this time period of the added tension.

Excerpt:

Felix couldn’t believe his soon-to-be-wife had asked him to purchase Naomi. He’d intended to buy the beautiful servant as a present for Livia anyway. It did not matter the element of surprise was ruined. She appreciated the gift just the same.

Maybe even more so, he thought recalling her words. If there is anything I can do to repay you for this favor please let me know. I am in your debt.

Felix paced his large bedchamber, marching like the trained soldier he was.

He was certain most of the men wishing to marry Livia had failed to notice the brief smile she’d shared with Naomi at her birthday celebration. Most slaves had been schooled to keep an impassive expression; still a quick break in decorum was far from unheard of. And it was Livia’s birthday after all. It could have meant nothing. However, after Livia’s request it could also mean a great deal.

He glanced at the empty bed. Normally on a night like this he’d pay a woman to warm his bed or even send for one of his female slaves. Not tonight. His cock begged for attention and all it would receive would be the caress of his own hand. In Livia’s honor he’d sworn off other women so he could savor their wedding night as much as his wife. It would be a hard promise to keep, and although she might never learn of his sacrifice, he intended to keep his word.

Felix stroked his short beard. He had quite a reputation for having a large sexual appetite. With Naomi moving to his domus he did not know if he could keep his hands off her for long. This momentary celibacy did not help with that. He groaned, not wanting to sully his worship of the golden haired Livia.

He left his bedchamber and walked out onto the veranda. The weather was unseasonably warm for May. The lack of a breeze did not help to ease his inner fire. Ever since he was a young boy he’d been ruled by his ambition. His father said if he hadn’t been fortunate to be born into a patrician family he still would have found a way into the elite.

His father was the only person who knew just how high his aspirations went. Many nights he’d lie in bed imagining what it would be like to rule the Roman Empire. The foolish fantasies of a youth, most likely. He sighed and left the veranda to stroll through his garden. He needed to stretch his legs and think. Think and dream like he’d done as a boy. With the rigors of army life and monotony of politics he hadn’t indulged in his fantasies in a while. Likely his father had figured he’d forgotten them, grown up and left them behind.

That was not true. Now, thinking about the possibilities Livia and Naomi represented had him dreaming again. If he was emperor the impropriety of taking a concubine while married would not matter. Past emperors had been known to take many women into their bed besides their wife.

It would be hard to restrain his desires for both women. He did not wish to dishonor his family with scandal. No, he wouldn’t openly court scandal unless it appeared on his doorstep. If it did, then how could he turn it away?

 

Private PleasureBlurb:

A member of the Roman elite, Livia, shares a secret Sapphic relationship with her slave that’s threatened when her father forces her to marry a powerful senator. But after her new husband introduces her to the pleasures of sex with men, she finds her attraction torn. Is it the senator she wants in her bed, or her slave?

Sensuous Naomi has been a devoted slave and lover to Livia for many years, but she too feels a desire for the senator that’s too powerful to stop. When he discovers their secret, he offers Naomi a choice – marry another slave, or live as a threesome. Naomi jumps at the chance to lie in the senator’s arms, even if only for one night.

Felix’s political ambition knows no bounds, nor his appetite for women. But when a critical mission results in his capture, it’s only getting back to his two lovers he desires, no matter what the diplomatic fallout. Little does he know the risks he’s taken in his bed and in the field have not gone unnoticed by the emperor, but will he be rewarded or reprimanded for his actions?

Warning: this is ancient history on the erotic romance side. This novella contains two women lusting after each other and a powerful man determined to have them both.

Private Pleasure is currently on sale for 99 cents

Buy Links:

Amazon Universal | Barnes and Noble | ARe | iTunes | Kobo | Smashwords | Audio

 

Shiloh SaddlerAuthor Bio and Links:

Shiloh Saddler likes to do research for her steamy romances first hand. She has invented a time machine and travels back to the 19th century on a regular basis. There are experimental settings on her time machine which could propel her into the future and even other worlds. She believes love and a good book makes anything possible.

Blog: http://shilohsaddler.blogspot.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/shiloh.saddler?fref=ts
Twitter: https://twitter.com/ShilohSaddler
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7090858.Shiloh_Saddler
Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00H6CN5D4

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Meditations on Laundry

“We went through a lot of workout clothes this week,” I say. Raymond is making coffee and I’m folding clothes in front of the drying rack that clutters our kitchen whenever we do laundry. Sometimes it clutters our kitchen all week long until I finally get around to folding the clean clothes and putting them away. However this week I am making a virtuous effort to get everything ironed and put away by Wednesday.

“We’ve had extra workouts this week,” he says as we both listen to the satisfying gurgle of the mocha maker sitting on the cooker.

clothes_basket “Both your gees are clean and ironed, all ready for Saturday.” I nod to the pristine karate uniforms hanging over the kitchen door. He teaches a karate class on Saturdays in Sutton and goes into London for a workout in the morning as well.

“Thanks.” He says, getting out the coffee cups. Raymond doesn’t iron, but he makes kick-ass coffee and a mean bowl of oatmeal. “Are you going in with me to walk?”

“I plan to.” I just happen to be folding the breathable Eddie Bauer shirt I wore last week when Emma Louise Burbidge and I walked the London Parks, and I smile at the memory. I don’t smile at the memory of the ratty tank top I wear whenever I do the roots of my hair between visits to the hairdresser – always something I put off until I start getting skunk strip down the centre of my part. I fold it hastily and put it in the basket. Interesting that I take care in folding the clothes that I have fond memories of wearing recently, and not so much with the ones I don’t.

Raymond hands me the coffee just in time as I turn my attention to the frustrating task of folding his myriad black socks. The thing is, he has a gazillion pairs and they’re all look almost but not quite exactly a like. They’re just different enough to make matching them a real nightmare. Some have different coloured toes, some are ribbed differently and there are at least three kinds that are identical except for the ribbing on the cuffs which varies in width by millimeters. I hate folding men’s black socks. This morning he has mercy on me and takes the task off my hands so I can return to the pleasure of folding the history of our week told in laundry.

“You’ve got a rip there on the sleeve,” I say, holding up a blue shirt. “And the collar’s getting tatty. I think we should retire this one.”

He studies it for a moment and nods his agreement. “I caught it on the corner of the filing cabinet in the printer room. Something needs to be done about that.”

“You know, every week we can detail the past week’s history in our clean laundry,” I say. In our dirty laundry too, I think, but I’d rather not think about that so much reminded of the ripe load of workout clothes I put in with extra detergent on long cycle.

Writing image He gives me The Look – the one he always does when he thinks possibly meds might be requires. Then he nods to my coffee cup, because clearly I haven’t had enough caffeine yet this morning.

“No, seriously. Look” I pull a pair of his blue workout shorts off the rack. “Remember kettle bells last week?”

“That was a killer,” he says with a smile that says he likes kettle bells class best when it’s a killer.

“And look, those walking trousers — I wore those in to try on new boots at the North face shop, but they didn’t have my size. Then I got ‘em muddy on the walk to Newland’s corner the day after.

“And that long-sleeve t-shirt there,” I nodded to a faded red V-neck. “I wore that last Wednesday when the house was like a deep freeze and I was trying to finish up the week’s edition of In The Flesh for my blog. I wore that blue hoodie too and spilled tea on it in the process, and then I got toothpaste on it that
evening when I brushed my teeth before bed.”

“I guess you’re right,” he says, looking around at our partially folded history lesson. “I never thought of it that way.

Neither had I, but there have to be a thousand stories in people’s laundry – dirty or clean. My laundry mostly tells the story of someone who writes and works from home, someone who walks a lot and works out a lot. Raymond’s tells the story of a man working in management, seeing clients, catching up on never-ending reports. They tell the story of a man who loves martial arts and loves being active. Sometimes there are travel stories, like the stain from some exotic sauce acquired while entertaining clients in a seafood restaurant in Alexandria. Sometimes there are anatomy stories, like the way his socks wear on the heels while mine wear out on the bottoms. We both threw away a couple pairs of socks after we’d finished the Coast to Coast walk a few years ago. I wear high socks when the weather’s cold and I’m sitting on my arse spending long hours in with my characters. I wear short light socks in the gym.

The point is that the stories of our lives and the fodder for the stories of lives I make up can unfold – or
fold, in this case – in unexpected ways. Perhaps Raymond was actually using his martial arts skills to raymond 018fight off spies who infiltrated the copy room to steal company secrets. Perhaps that’s how he ripped his shirt. Perhaps I woke up this morning and found myself folding the laundry of some stranger, none of it mine, none of it familiar. Perhaps the mud on my walking trousers was actually from my night haunts of staking vampires in old churchyards.

Mind you, most of the time, the folding and putting away of laundry is cause for little more than a sigh of relief that it’s done for this week and I can take down the racks and unclutter the kitchen. But sometimes, even folding the laundry can be more than it actually appears to be, and at the end of the day, everything tells a story – even men’s mismatched black socks.

 

In The Flesh Part 29: Dark Paranormal Romance in Progress. Enjoy!

In the Flesh 11880534_1463650103936599_545702979581425574_nIt’s Friday and time for episode 29 of In The flesh. Susan returns to Chapel House to face the Guardian, but will even the best made plan be enough to keep her and her friends safe?

There are only a few more episodes of In The Flesh left, so be sure to mark Fridays on your calendar, and hold on to your hats because things are about to get wild.

In the Flesh  is very dark paranormal erotica. When Susan Innes comes to visit her friend, Annie Rivers, in Chapel House, the deconsecrated church that Annie is renovating into a home, she discovers her outgoing friend changed, reclusive, secretive, and completely enthralled by a mysterious lover, whose presence is always felt, but never seen, a lover whom she claims is god. As her holiday turns into a nightmare, Susan must come to grips with the fact that her friend’s lover is neither imaginary nor is he human, and even worse, he’s turned his wandering eye on Susan, and he won’t be denied his prize. If Susan is to fight an inhuman stalker intent on having her as his own, she’ll need a little inhuman help.

 

To read the story in its entirety up to this point, follow the links.

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4 Part 5Part 6Part 7Part 8Part 9Part 10Part 11Part 12Part 13Part 14Part 15Part 16, Part 17Part 18Part 19Part 20Part 21Part 22Part 23Part 24Part 25 Part 26Part 27, Part 28.

 

In the Flesh Chapter 29

It took an eternity for us to get to Chapel House and, at the same time, we arrived far too soon. I wasn’t ready, but then I knew there was no being ready, not really. How could I ever be ready for what was to come, but now that my mind was made up, more than anything I just wanted to get on with it. For a moment, I hated Michael for taking the choice from me. I hated Magda for agreeing to his demands, and I hated them both for keeping it all from me. Beyond that, I felt Michael’s withdrawal from me, his absence with a pain that nearly brought me to my knees. But there was nothing for it. I squared my shoulders and took a deep breath. Focusing on the task at hand was the only way to deal with the pain right now. Michael would live. That’s what mattered most.

I left the Land Rover without giving myself time to think. There was no comfort to be had by lingering, nothing that could be done to make what I had to do any less a solitary act and, while both Alonso and Talia assured me that the plan would work, I knew only too well there were variables none of us could foresee. I knew only too well how crucial timing was. From the back of Chapel House, I entered through the wrought-iron gate and into the garden, concentrating on the thump, thump of Magda’s stone heart talisman against my breastbone, the weight of it heavier and heavier with each step I took. It was the feel of it against my skin that centred me, kept me focused, in spite of my anger at the woman. Very soon, none of that would matter. The tangle of the overgrown garden that had been an impenetrable maze when I was last here now was only a slight distraction. I wasn’t trying to escape. I wasn’t trying to steal anyone away. The Guardian would not hinder me from my returned to Him. I was only halfway to the kitchen door when I was all but overwhelmed by heavy scent of roses. I was really beginning to hate the fucking scent of roses. My stomach clenched fist tight, and for a moment I thought I would vomit. But I knew things now, things that even the Guardian didn’t. They might not make a difference in the end, but they did to me. I closed my eyes and thought of Michael sleeping in his bed in his lovely home with the sun coming up over the fells. I thought of crawling into bed next to him and breathing his clean, outdoorsy scent rather than the cloying, funerary scent of roses; I thought of being folded in his arms next to the strong steady beat of his heart. Which would continue to beat when I was finished here. I thought of Michael alive and sleeping peacefully, and I found my voice. “I’m here. I’ve come back. Just like you knew I would.”

2015-09-04 16.16.05 HDRAnd instantly I was embraced from behind, with such force and with such bodily presence that I had to glance over my shoulder to be certain there was no physical flesh. “I knew you would return to me, my little scribe.” The voice was like velvet against my ear, and I was reminded with the sudden tightening of my nipples beneath an invisible caress and the catch of my breath as my heart began to race, that no matter what magic Magda Gardener had woven around me, no matter what I had schemed and written on my Mac before I left High View, I was still horribly vulnerable, and I still wanted Him more than I ever wanted anything in my life. When He touched me, I could barely remember my own name, let alone what I was supposed to do when the time came. I found myself wondering if maybe Magda and Michael were right to give me no more of a task than to lie down and spread my legs. That — I could just about manage. That – more than likely I would have no choice in anyway at the end of the day. I took another deep, steadying breath, as invisible lips kissed my ear and the nape of my neck, as a splayed hand rested low against my belly pulling me back against an erection that felt flesh and blood real.

“I had to,” I whispered. “I had to come back to plead for Annie’s safety, for that of my friends. Surely you knew that I would.”

“Of course I knew that, my darling.” Somewhere in the back of my mind I was aware that my jeans were open, and I leaned heavily against the broad chest at my back, shifting my hips to ease the path of His hand as He wriggled warm fingers down inside the waistband of my panties.

“If you love me, as you say you do, then surely you can give me that. I’ve returned to you of my own free will, as you asked. Surly you can grant me that one simple request, the safety of those I love. Consider it a gift for your beloved. They’re nothing to you, after all. It’s only a little thing I ask.”

The air moved around me in a sudden rush of wind, hot and rancid with the smell of burning garbage.

“You understand, of course,” He said, “that you would have saved those you love a lot of suffering if you had stayed with me to begin with.” The shrug of His body felt almost like a thrust. “Oh, I realise that you had no choice in the matter when you were abducted by that bitch, Magda Gardener and the angel, but even that doesn’t fool me, my darling. I know well that you left willingly.

“That you came back willingly is also a lie. You came back because of my threats to those you love.”rose images

“But I came back,” I said. “The vampire didn’t want me there any more than you did.”

“The vampire, yes. He may be long dead, but his familiars all live and draw breath. He was wise to return you to me. Still,” there was another shrug of a thrust, and I realised to my horror that I was all but riding His hand as He slid it deep into my panties. “Still, all I would have had to do, dear little scribe, was wait. In time you would have returned to me in desperation, just as all of those who love me do. In time there would have been nothing Magda Gardener, the angel, nor the vampire and all his minions could have done to thwart your efforts to get back to me. In time, there would have been nothing short of your death that would have kept you from me. And that, I would have never allowed. So you see, you have nothing to bargain with.” A simple twitch of His fingers and I orgasmed, the heat of shame rising up my neck and burning my face even as I waited breathlessly for Him to bring me again.

“That I was impatient to have you back in my arms, that I was impatient to pleasure your body and have you pleasure mine – now that through my angel, I may have a body for you to pleasure — well, that is all that kept me from waiting for you until you came back to me of your own accord and threw yourself at my feet.”

I don’t know how He managed it or how I missed it, but I found myself on the mattress in the windowless space Annie had prepared for me as a guestroom. “I would have you on the altar to celebrate your return, my love, as is fitting for my consort, but it is tainted with your friend’s lust for me. I would have it cleansed and purified before I have you there. For now, I shall ravish you here. I shall punish you and hurt you for playing the whore with the angel, who belongs to me as surely as you do. I shall make you suffer even as I love you, even as you beg me for more.” Invisible hands eased me down on the bed, and I braced myself, concentrating with what little of my wits was left to me on the weight of the stone between my breasts. “This shall be the place of your punishment, the place of your purification, and only when you are repentant and once again pure, shall I enter you on the high altar.”

He pulled away suddenly and, for a second, I thought he had left me. “Where is the angel?” He asked.

“Oh he’ll be here soon enough,” I said, lying back on the pillow, cupping my breasts and thumbing my nipples, knowing if He were anything like most men, that would focus His attention quickly enough. “I wanted some time alone with you before he got here.” I ran my hand down to cup myself between my legs, absently stroking. The scent in the air was suddenly spicy, like Christmas evergreen laced with sandalwood and cloves. “You’ve been inside him. You’ve possessed him, used his body.”

“And I shall again. Do not try to deceive me, little one. He will come to me, and when he does, I promise once I’ve been inside him, possessed his body, there will be nothing you can do to persuade him to help your pathetic friends.”

dark moon image_xl_6338206“Oh, I know he’ll come,” I said, nibbling on my lip and catching my breath as I played with myself. Even scared shitless as I was, it wasn’t hard to masturbate, even to bring myself to orgasm, when just being in His presence kept me only a hairs breadth away. “It’s just that I want to know what it feels like too. You’ve never inhabited a woman’s flesh, have you? Or perhaps you can’t. Perhaps you can only inhabit men, maybe only angels. Have you ever possessed anyone other than Michael?”

The scent of him became more strongly cloves and nutmeg. “Of course I may possess who I will, though most vessels are not strong enough to contain me for very long, and I am loath to use up a good lover too quickly.”

“I’m not just any vessel. I’m a Scribe, and you promised me when I freed you, you promised me what every scribe desires. Don’t you remember, you said you could give me the mind of god.” My breath hitched and I made a show of nibbling my lip, of moaning softly. Though in truth, it was hardly a show. It was just doing what I had to do to keep from begging Him to fuck me.

“As you so rudely reminded me, I am not a god.” There was just a tiny whiff of garbage among the fragrance of holiday spices.

“You’re right. I was rude. I apologise.” And then, perhaps I drifted off for a few seconds, caught up in my own lust. I think it might have been the thump of the stone heart against my breast bone that brought me back to myself with my thighs spread wide, knees bent, feet flat on the mattress. The air was rank with the scent of male heat, and I had the sense of Him on the bed with me, face between my thighs watching, with deep fascination, the dance and dart of my fingers.

“It feels good.” He spoke and the cloves and nutmeg scent peaked.

“You have no idea,” I gasped, swallowing back the words in a little whimper and writhing against the mattress.

“I hear that for women it is different, for women there are no limits to the number of times they may take their release … well for women who are with mortal men, that is.”

I nodded with another little whimper. In truth, if it weren’t for the thump, thump of Magda’s talisman constantly reminding me why I was here, I would have been lost in my own lust, groveling for him to take me.

“Please,” I begged. “I know you can do whatever you want, but you told me, that very first night when I released you from your prison, that you could show me the mind of god. Surely that had to mean the you would possess me, take my body as your own, fill me with you, with your mind, let me know what it is you feel, what you think, how you see the world, even if it’s just for a few minutes, even if it’s the last thing that will ever matter to me as myself before you take me over completely and I stop caring about anything but you. I’m not stupid. I know that’s what awaits me no matter what you say. And, after all, I did release you.”

“It is true, my little scribe, you did set me free — truly a feat no one else in a thousand years could accomplish. Therefore, what I have promised, I will perform. ” I felt His palms move to the insides of my thighs and the intimate muscles of my body convulsed with anticipation. “It is but a small thing for me,” He said, running a tongue I couldn’t see over my flesh and parting me with slow wet kisses, “And I am most curious. Therefore, I shall do as you ask, and I shall give you the mind of god.”

I think I might have screamed, as His presence moved into me, as my body stretched and spread and In The Flesh 2 12006311_1476805985954344_6570546160088833292_nexpanded outward like the beginning of the universe, and just when I was certain I would fly apart into nothingness, the world righted itself, and my body was filled completely with Him. Before I could adjust
to the sensation, He spoke.

“I shall enjoy wearing the flesh of a woman.” As though it were no longer mine, my hand caressed my breasts with the awkwardness of a teenage boy, while He slowed my efforts between my legs so that he could explore the flesh He now possessed. I felt both split in two and at the same time, for the first time in my life I felt whole, feeling the rhythm of my heart beat, beat, beat, against the solid stone of Magda’s talisman. “Oh yes, it shall be a pleasure for both of us, my little scribe, but only until the angel gets here,” He added quickly. “For without the angel’s body, I will never be to you more than a touch you cannot see, a caress you cannot return. I will have his flesh, possess it as my own, and then, my lovely, I may service you as you deserve.”

 

Classic Erotic Fiction That Makes 50 Shades Look Tame

My guest today is Laura Varnishe from the School of Squirt, here to remind us that really hot erotica … well it’s been around for awhile. Remember, there’s a world of really fantastic erotica out there, and it’s always great to see someone else’s recommendations. Welcome, Laura!

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When 50 Shades of Grey was released in 2011 it broke records and made headlines thanks to its provocative storyline and graphic sex scenes. The book went mainstream and spawned countless similar books as well as a movie adaptation that drove sales for the book through the roof a second time.

But what if I told you there are books that make 50 Shades look absolutely tame in comparison? The fact is erotic fiction has a long and torrid history which includes entries that simply defy anything Christian Grey could come up with.

 

Marquis_de_Sade_-_The_120_Days_of_Sodom

 

120 Days of Sodom by Marquis de Sade (1905)

Without a doubt, the single most iconic piece of erotic literature is 120 Days of Sodom. The book’s “plot” (and we use the term loosely here) is an obvious afterthought to readers. Instead, the book is little more than a catalogue of every insane, over the top sex act you can imagine, along with a few you couldn’t have dreamt up in a million years. The book has been banned by both schools and governments and remains the undisputed King of Erotic Literature.

 

 

 

 

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Venus in Furs by Leopold von Sacher-Masoch (1870)

Venus in Furs makes the list not only because of its graphic sex scenes, but because it focused on a sexual theme simply unheard of at the time of its publication. Severin von Kusiemski, the main character of the novel, spends his time describing his dreams and fantasies – all of which have to do with being dominated and possessed by a woman. This role reversal was scandalous at every level when the book was published in 1870 and it remains so today.

 

 

 

 

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Delta of Venus by Anaïs Nin (1940 / 1977)

Delta of Venus is a collection of short stories that focus on various aspects of erotic fiction. The collection was originally written in the 1940s for an unnamed private collector and was eventually published in 1977 after Anaïs Nin passed away. Themes in the book run the gamut from homosexuality and male desire to extreme sexual restraint and incest.

 

 

 

 

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The Story of O by Pauline Réage (1954)

The Story of O is another pop-culture icon but few people have read the original work. The book focuses on a young woman, O, and her journey as a willing sexual slave. O’s story involves repeated sexual objectification and is heavy on extreme BDSM. The book was originally banned in its native France though obscenity charges were eventually dropped.

 

 

 

 

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The Sluts by Dennis Cooper (2005)

This modern entry to our list proves that erotic fiction has both evolved and, in some ways, gone back to its roots. Like 120 Days, the plot in The Sluts is secondary to the action. The story of a young male hustler is told through a series of online reviews, emails and postings to fictitious websites. As the young man’s story is revealed, readers are treated (if that’s the right word) by a catalogue of what he endures which includes everything from rough sex to amputation.

 

 

This article was written by Laura, who, when she isn’t reading erotic fiction, can be found over at School of Squirt.

 

 

 

 

C.A. Bell Stops by to Discuss BDSM Poetry (@cbellAtrix09) #bdsm #poetry #erotica

tourbutton_bdsm-poetryHi there, and thank you K.D Grace for letting me drop by to promote my new release BDSM poetry. Don’t dismiss me right away because you read the word poetry, I promise this collection is not full of thy heart bleeds and my bosoms heave. I am an erotic fiction author so there will be no bosoms or bleeding hearts, promise.

This collection is made up of many styles of poetry and as it says in the blurb, consists of meaningful, intimate, and downright filthy poetry. BDSM poetry is about exploring the different elements of BDSM, and although they are written as poems and most of them rhyme, they still tell a story and take you on journey. So, give it a go and see what you think, because poetry is a powerful expression of writing and feeling.

BDSM poetry is available at Amazon and on kindle unlimited, so please take a look and leave a review, as your feedback is always welcome and taken on-board.

Excerpt

Mistress

On the floor,

on all fours.

Kiss my shoe,

the heel, too.

Crawl around,

don’t make a sound.

Just do as I say,

or you will pay.

You’re here for me,

to set you free,

control your mind,

help you unwind.

So, do as I wish,

do not resist.

Never question,

my aggression.

Kiss my hand.

Now you may stand.

Don’t look in my eyes,

nor at my thighs.

Don’t speak a word,

for it won’t be heard.

Remember your place,

and my embrace,

you will feel,

to help you heal.

Now hold out your cock,

and I’ll unlock,

unleash your rage,

from its metal cage.

Hold it at the base,

for now, you’ll taste,

the sting of my crop,

across the top…

 

BDSM PoetryBlurb

BDSM is a collection of poetry containing f/f, anal play, femdom, bondage, shibari, anal play and much more. It contains meaningful, intimate, and downright filthy poetry written in acrostic, ballad, cinquain, and free verse.

This collection is intended for the open-minded people out there who love all things BDSM.

So, let BDSM take you on a journey into the taboo, and give the most erogenous part of your body, your brain, a treat.

Bio

C.A.Bell was born and raised on the outskirts of London, England, but for the past three years has resided in a much more rural town of Shropshire, where she and her husband married and made a home. She is currently working on a number of projects, including the follow-on book to The Architect, and aspires to be a well-known author.

Buy Links

Amazon UK http://www.amazon.co.uk/BDSM-C-BELL-ebook/dp/B017Y6BZ6A/ref=la_B0140XPC0U_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1449045678&sr=1-3

Amazon US http://www.amazon.com/BDSM-C-BELL-ebook/dp/B017Y6BZ6A/ref=la_B0140XPC0U_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1449045927&sr=1-3

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Social Links

http://authorcabell.co.uk

@cbellAtrix09

https://en-gb.facebook.com/people/Author-C-A-Bell/100010696021804

 
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The Romance Reviews

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