It’s good to be on Lissa’s blog. I’m a fan of her work so getting to do a guest post is really a privilege. I’m also doing a giveaway; comment or ask a question on this blog by January 7 to receive a book from my backlist of your choice.
Mysteries and romances have one big thing in common: the reader knows how the story is going to end the entire time. Yes, in a mystery you don’t know who the killer is (although even that isn’t true in some police procedurals) but you know the detective is going to unmask him or her at the end. And in a romance you know the hero and heroine are going to be together. What you don’t know is how they are going to get there. How are they going to make it work?
Sometimes it all seems so natural. The perfect Dom. A submissive woman who has been craving the touch of a man like him her entire life. Two people who are made for each other, and all they have to do is overcome their fears and learn to trust. Maybe she’s not comfortable being a submissive. Maybe, more rarely, he’s not comfortable being a Dom, like in Cherise Sinclair’s short “Welcome to the Dark Side.” Often one or both of them have some issues with commitment. But even though they fit nicely, they still have to figure out their own way to do BDSM, and that’s where the excitement lies for me. Is this going to be a total power exchange relationship? Or a just in the bedroom kind of thing? What do they call each other? Is there a collaring or a wedding or just an understanding?
Characters find their own way, in a good BDSM romance. I started to give some examples, from Lissa’s Pink Buttercream Frosting, Annabel Joseph’s Comfort Object and my own Recipe for Submission, and I realized I’d have to give away endings. But I think it’s enough to say that those books end with the main characters in different relationships because they are different people in different circumstances. The endings aren’t prescriptions for how all BDSM relationships ought to be, but they are right for the characters.
I had some extra fun with this in my latest release from Loose Id, Dom and Domme. I started out with two dominant personalities in Betsy and Gray, and had fun letting them bash heads. The relationship they come up with in the end isn’t for everyone, but it fits for them and makes them happy.
Here’s an excerpt from early in book:
Elizabeth didn’t miss the gesture. This is my place, he was saying. And of course it was. All she could do was walk in like she belonged. It might be my place too if Vincent is serious about wanting to sell.
Gray was the same old stubborn Gray, the man she’d dreamed about dominating. That much was true. But with Gray the dreams hadn’t always been about D/s. Sometimes it was enough to imagine his lips on her, his cock in her, his hips moving. And a few times in those fantasies, he’d been the one telling her to what to do, although she wasn’t about to tell him that now. Or ever.
The room he’d ushered her into was gorgeous. Red silk with gold embroidery covered a sumptuous bed in the far corner. The bed looked so soft and fluffy she wanted to jump on it to see how she’d sink into the mattress, and the pillows were big, square, and overstuffed. It was the sort of bed that would probably cause all sorts of back troubles if one spent a week sleeping on it, but it obviously wasn’t for sleeping on, anyway. There was a black lacquered chest of drawers, almost narrow enough to be a nightstand, with sweeping accents that reminded her of a pagoda. A tilted bowl held a variety of condoms and packets of lube. Vincent, who had invited her to Excess so she could see if she wanted to buy it, had told her every room had a supply of toys. The pagodalike chest had to hold the Orient room’s toys because there wasn’t any other place for them.
She had met Vincent at a party in San Francisco, and they had ended up co-topping a petite blonde. That had been quite an experience. Men definitely topped differently from women. Why didn’t I just share Amanda with Gray? That would have been the right thing to do, the only fair thing to do for Amanda. Normally she was as strict with herself as she was with her subs. But the idea of sharing Gray had made a knot in her chest as painful as it would have been over ten years ago. Dammit.
In the near corner was a neat stack of black cushions of various shapes: wedges, squares, rectangles. For putting one’s sub in exactly the position one wanted them in, Elizabeth figured. Nice to see someone appreciated BDSM wasn’t all about how hard one swung a whip or how much someone could take. She liked having things just so, and the cushions would make a good start. Way more practical than the bed. She wasn’t sure what they had to do with the Orient, but she supposed they didn’t go much better in any other themed room.
She heard the door click behind her. She turned to look, and a moment later Gray was kissing her again. His strong hands pulled her close to him as their lips met. She put her arms around his shoulders and hung on. She didn’t resist when his tongue nudged her mouth open and slipped inside. She kissed him back fiercely, tongue slipping with tongue, lips bruising with the force of their passion.
His chest felt like granite against hers. She knew she wasn’t particularly huggable in the corset, but it didn’t seem to bother him any. He was so strong. He’d been in good shape in college, playing on the school rugby team, but obviously he’d been working out since. As a domme, she’d rarely been physically stronger than the people she’d topped. She had to pull something out of them that made them want to submit, which usually wasn’t a problem because they were paying her good money and didn’t want to waste it. She avoided playing with male subs at clubs because they so often wanted a relationship, something 24-7, and were persistent about it even if she told them that was off the menu. Why some people thought stalking was going to make them attractive as full-time slaves was something she’d never understand.
His hands slid from her waist to her ass. She wasn’t going to complain; they felt good there. When he pulled at her butt cheeks, she could feel the stretching in her pussy. What would it be like to submit to that strength or to be overpowered by it? The thought made her catch her breath. Her heart hammered. Her pussy yearned for some friction, and the corset felt tighter than ever.
She was willing to bet he was hard, but with her pulled against him, his groin was even with her corseted tummy, and she couldn’t feel very well through the corset. It couldn’t be comfortable being hard and having all that boning grind against one, could it? She smiled inwardly, dropped her hands to his ass, pulled him tight, and squirmed against his crotch. He moaned into their kiss. Like a little pain, do we?
Then he released her and took a step back. She relaxed her hands and let him go. Yes, he was definitely hard. She could see the ridge in his tight jeans. She smiled, satisfied. He was breathing heavily.
He nodded. “Yeah, I’m good. Better than good. But feeling you in my arms again, I want to pick you up and put you on that bed and fuck the lights out of you. I want to hold you down so you can’t escape. I’m not feeling especially sane, and consent didn’t seem very important for a second there, so I decided I’d better spend a moment and get my head together.”
After he said fuck, the rest kind of blurred in her mind, and it took a second or two for it all to register. She nodded. “You’re stronger than me.”
She grinned at him wickedly. “The only real way to redress that issue is to tie you up, isn’t it? I bet we have something suitable.” She strode across the room to the pagoda dresser and pulled open the top drawer. It was full of floggers and paddles, so she pushed it closed and opened the middle one. Nylon cuffs, a blindfold, and some rope. Everything she needed, although she would have preferred chains. She liked the way they clinked. Ropes were too quiet, didn’t have enough heft to them.
He pressed up behind her as she bent over. Yes, he was definitely hard. And despite his comment about consent and her vulnerable position, she didn’t move away. Thoughts of him pushing her panties aside and taking her flashed through her mind. She was usually all about negotiation, but this was Gray. She knew from experience sex with him was damn hot even if it didn’t involve D/s.
His fingers tapped their way from her waist upward, finally seizing the tops of her breasts where they bulged over the corset. He tugged, lifting her breasts out of the garment and cupping them. “You’re not getting those on me, love, so put them back.”
She tossed cuffs, blindfold, and rope on the bed instead and pushed back against him. Her pussy pulsed, wanting to be filled. Nothing complicated about that. For once she didn’t have to be the hard-ass. Better to do this on her terms before he thought he was topping her again.
“Put a condom on and fuck me, just like this.” She looked back over her shoulder, wiggling her butt. Do it, slave. She knew those words would ensure her not getting what she wanted. But the idea of saying them made a tremor run down her spine. She’d take good care of him if he was hers. She’d see to his pleasure as well as her own. She was not a cruel mistress unless a sub desired cruelty.
Somehow she doubted he would be persuaded. He took a step back, presumably to get his pants off and the condom on. Good enough. At least he was following orders.
He yanked her shorts down, the fabric pooling around her ankles.
“I didn’t tell you that you could do that,” she told him. She glared at him over her shoulder. The air felt cool against her pussy, but with him a foot away, there wasn’t any good way to warm it up again. She wanted to whirl around and slap him, and she wanted to stay where she was, open, ready. Fuckable. Fuckable won, but she had to grab the dresser hard to stay put. She tried not to scrape the lacquer with her fingernails.
“I didn’t ask. They were in the way.”
“You’re not in charge here.”
“Neither are you.” He took his shirt off, which stopped her from replying immediately. She stared at sleek muscles, hard pecs, six-pack abs. He hadn’t looked that good back in college. He’d been working out.
She straightened, turned, and kicked the shorts away from around her ankles. She kept staring while he pulled off his boots. She wanted to push him back, straddle his face, and make him pleasure her. The men she was used to would love that. Gray’d never had a problem with going down on her, but she knew that wasn’t the right move. How did “normal” people have sex again? But then normal didn’t necessarily apply either. Gray was apparently a dom now, and she could tell from the murmurs she’d overheard when they were facing off he had a solid reputation in the local scene. God, this is fucked up. I don’t want to fight him. I just want him to make love to me.
“So, then. Vanilla?” he asked.
“I usually prefer sorbet.”
He grinned. “And I’m a chocolate chip guy. But I want to make—have sex with you. And I’d like us not to kill each other in the process.”
She smiled sweetly. “But black widows are so sexy.” At the glare on his face, she added, “Fine. Vanilla. For old times’ sake. They were very good old times, after all.” And besides, I’m soaking wet here, and if you don’t do something about it, I’m going to be very frustrated.
“They were.” He pulled off his pants. He was going commando. One of the things she loved to order men to do. His cock was big—she’d known that. And sticking straight out, ready for her. She’d forgotten quite how thick it was. That would fill her very nicely. Stretch her. Yum.
“Lean over the bed, Betsy. It’s more comfortable than the dresser.”
There was nothing she’d rather do. Except. “Please?”
He set his jaw and then nodded. “Please.”
She turned, leaned against the bed, and spread her legs. Soon his cock would be inside her. Delicious friction. Exactly as she’d been imagining it for years. Almost.
Nothing happened. It only took a few seconds to roll a condom on. He wasn’t touching her and teasing her, much less fucking her like she wanted. She looked back over her shoulder.
“Well what?” He smirked. His cock was in its rubber sheath, an inch from her pussy. For some reason he was standing still.
Damn him. “Please fuck me, Gray, you bastard.”
My website is www.sindravanyssel.com, and I can be reached by email at Sindra at gmail dot com. I love to hear from readers. Happy reading, and don’t forget to leave a comment or a question here if you want to be entered in the drawing.