Wednesday, 7 May 2014

RTK Dungeon Crawl - The House of Pain

It's all House of Pain promo this week, since it is currently on sale. Just $0.99 in the Amazon US store - ending Monday. Go check it out! 

An excerpt:  This is right from the start of the book, when Sara stumbles upon the House of Pain. 

It is an unobtrusive storefront in an ‘up-and-coming part’ of Toronto. The shop windows are tinted; the door is painted black. There is a discreet, hand-lettered sign tucked in a corner of the window. “Sex toys available.” It is lettered in sophisticated calligraphy, the elegance of the penmanship not matching the words on the sign. There is no other sign on the store front. Nothing else to indicate what the store sells.

I am fascinated. I bite my lip in slight nervous tension; do a hasty sweep of the street with my eyes. I don’t recognise anyone. It is a bright summer afternoon; everyone is going about their business with the usual bustle of a big city. I am trapped in the moment; a mote dancing in the sunlight. I am the cat that is about to get burned for my curiosity. I push the door and walk in.

Most sex stores are similar. They are seedy; there’s a booth in the back; there are men who shuffle around, carefully not making eye contact. This one? This is a temple.

Discreet spotlights highlight the sex toys on display, and these are not the dildos you find in Victoria’s Secret. The dildos are made of steel and wood, they are displayed on pedestals, and each one is huge. I feel like I’m in a museum; I look around for the ‘Do Not Touch’ signs, and inwardly giggle. A giggle of pure nervousness. I’m reacting to the atmosphere of this place, and it is turning me on.

My eyes are drawn to a huge steel fist. Surely that can’t go inside a person, I think in horror. It has to be at least fifteen inches long, and about three inches of thickness. I gulp. My pussy, on cue, begins to moisten.

I wander around the store in silence. There is a man in the corner who must work in the store. He looked up when I walked in; nodded in greeting, but he hasn’t said anything yet.

Another wall has whips. I can feel my pussy react to the possibility of pain; I am creaming in my panties, and I’m convinced I smell of arousal. Each whip is mounted on the wall; spotlights catching the leather; the leather sparkles under the light. My hand reaches out, mesmerized. I touch a flogger, imaging the leather strands being dragged over my skin, before it is cruelly brought down on my body. My entire face flushes; my lips part very slightly.

The man sitting in the corner eyes me expressionlessly. I can tell he knows how aroused I am. I want to flee. I find myself pulled towards him.

“Do you want to see the back?”

His voice is smooth, easy. Like a fine wine, with hints of depth. Warning bells start to ring in my mind; but that’s the good girl in me. Right now, I’m ignoring her. I am a moth drawn to the flame.

“Yes.” The merest whisper.

He moves out from behind the counter. Walks over to the back, opens a door. I walk in.

It is a small auditorium. Perhaps twenty seats. He flicks a couple of switches, and spotlights light the stage. The place feels intimate, dangerous.

“What happens here?” I ask in an undertone. “Sex shows?” I’m a little surprised; Toronto is an unlikely city for live sex shows.

“No. No sex. Just pain.” His words are direct.

He looks at me; his eyes wandering all over my body. They linger on my breasts. My nipples are erect, visible under the thin sundress I’m wearing.

“What’s your name?” he asks me.

“Sara.” Run, Sara, run, the warnings scream in my head. There is danger here; not in this man, or in this place, but in the way my body is responding to this place. I’m helpless here; this place fulfills some secret hidden longing in me, and I have a feeling that if the man standing in front of me orders me to sink to my knees and suck him off; I would obey. There’s something in the air; something that’s bringing out every secret erotic fantasy I’ve had.

He silently hands me a business card.

House of Pain.

There is a phone number underneath.

“What do you mean, just pain?” I whisper.

“People pay to watch,” he waves his arms towards the seat, “while I whip a girl.” He sees the look in my eyes. I’m mesmerized by the idea of being whipped under the spotlight by this man. He hands me a sheet. “These are the current rates. Call me if you are interested.”

There’s a dismissal in his voice. He’s made his pitch; it is now up to me to act.

I leave. My eyes squint in the bright sunlight outside; the interior of the shop had been dim. The traffic, the city noise, the pedestrians darting about, all feel strange after the feel of the shop. I walk along in a daze, walk into a nearby coffee shop. I need to sit down.

I realize I’m still clutching the sheet he handed me. I don’t even know his name. It isn’t the guy that’s causing the reaction in me though; it’s the place. House of Pain. The words hold a world of promise.

Reading the contents of the sheet, I feel wetness trickle out of my pussy. The sheet reminds me of the slips of paper in most sushi places – you fill in what you want; and how many. This sheet lists acts –bare-bottom spanking, whipping (bottom), whipping (breasts and nipples), whipping (pussy), caning, electricity (breasts and nipples), electricity (pussy), and much more. I feel my face flush again; my forehead has a sheen of sweat on it.

There are also rates. Taking 20 bare-bottom swats will pay out $10. 10 strokes with the flogger on my breasts, and I’ll get paid $30. There’s a footnote at the bottom of the sheet. Minimum order $200. I gulp. That’s four hundred bare-bottom swats; a world of pain.

My coffee cools next to me, forgotten. My nipples brush against my sundress, sending licks of longing running through me. I can feel my pussy quiver, my orgasm faint, but definite. I have come just from the idea of being whipped.
I am on autopilot. I want to call; I hesitate. Doing a sex show in a sex store? This is not me.

“There will be no sex,” a voice in my head reminds me. I’m totally drawn to the idea of being whipped under spotlights.

“You have a real life. Don’t be ridiculous. What if you run into friends there? Or your family? What then, Sara?” Practical, good-girl Sara intervenes angrily. I sigh. This will have to remain fantasy.

Two days later, I pick up my phone and call the House of Pain.


The Blurb: 

Sara White is outwardly a good girl; she follows the rules; works in a professional office; has a boyfriend who treats her with consideration. However, deep inside her, there’s a craving for pain, a desire to be spanked and whipped, to be submissive, to be controlled. 

One day, she walks into the House of Pain, a sex store in Toronto that also does shows in the back, where women are whipped and spanked in front of an audience. Transfixed by the idea, she signs up. 

Doug Patterson has met Sara at work, but discovers a whole new side of her when he sees her at the House of Pain. He approaches her and suggests Sara become his submissive. Sara is attracted to Doug; but afraid of complication. 

Will Sara surrender to Doug, and yield to her desire to be submissive? 

Contains BDSM, flogging, anal sex, and much more...  

Buy Links: 

Amazon US
Amazon UK
Amazon CA

And here's everyone else on the crawl - go visit! 


  1. Oh, I knew she'd be on the phone. Just surprised it took her 2 days. $200 worth - a bargain. Fabulous snippet, fabulous concept. I love it

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  3. Nice twist here. Very intriguing, especially the $200 minimum anything less would be uncivilized LOL.