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
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