Bit by bit, layer by layer, I’m showing you all I’ve got. This amazing Alison Tyler anthology, Twisted – Bondage with an Edge, will be coming out early next year – and already it’s got me in a spin!
Oh! Have I shown you this already? Well, I think it’s worth a second view, don’t you?
Tamsin
xxx
Dear Readers,
I’ve been looking at my blog traffic statistics and I’ve been learning a little bit about you – always a good thing between friends, wouldn’t you say? I’ve found that a large proportion of you are drawn to visit me by one word in particular – bondage! Well, if you’ve got to be partial to a certain word, that’s a great pick – it’s one of my favourites, too!
I don’t know if this is something to do with the 50 Shades effect or if you were tying yourself in knots over it before E L James unleashed her billionaire on us but I, for one, am going to ride with it. Wearing a pair of tight white jodhpurs, thigh high boots and carrying a riding crop in my right hand! You see, luckily for our continuing happiness with one another, I love writing it.
So, always wishing to be an accommodating soul, I’m going to give you a little more of what you fancy – an excerpt from my latest work-in-progress, Your Desire: The Submissive. Beautiful submissive Ella faces a final test to complete her training – but can she achieve what is expected of her? Here’s a small sample to whet your appetite, but I’m afraid you’re going to have to wait a little longer to discover the full answer to that question – and don’t say I never string you along!
Tamsin
xxx
Your Desire: The Submissive
You tug on the black ribbon and, as you pull it away, the weight of my hair falls across my shoulders. You sink your hands into it, running them through its length, and then you twist a hank of it in your wrist so you can hold me firmly. You draw me closer still, so my nipples brush against your naked chest. This sudden touch runs through me like a jolt of electricity, making me catch my breath. The hand you have in my hair pulls my head back and suddenly your kiss turns savage. You plunder my mouth with yours, biting hard on my bottom lip, plunging your tongue as far back into my mouth as you can reach. Your teeth scrape against mine and as desire flares you insert one knee up between my legs. I’m already wet; in a second your trousers will bear the mark of it. The front of your thigh pushes up hard against me and I grind my hips in response, letting a small moan roll down the back of my throat.
You immediately break off the kiss and step back from me, holding me by my hair at arm’s length. Your face is serious, your eyes now shielded from me by your heavy brows.
“Ella, Ella, baby.”
I’ve made a mistake and I look down at the floor.
“Silence,” you say. “No sound unless I give you permission. You know that.”
I drop to my knees, causing you to let go of my hair. I hate it when you have to admonish me like this, because I’ve forgotten one of the basic rules.
You walk away and I know exactly where you’re going. To fetch a ruler. You come back to me.
“Hand.”
I put out my right hand in front of me, palm up. You swat it with the ruler and the pain radiates up my arm. This isn’t for any sort of gratification; it’s not part of our scene. This is a humiliating punishment to remind me of your rules. To make me feel like a child. I silently curse myself for allowing this to happen on such an important day. Could it mean I’ve already failed the test? I blink back tears of frustration, keeping my head bowed and my hand out, in case you want to strike it again.
I hear the ruler clatter to the floor as you toss it aside.
“Go to the cross, Ella.”
I know you will want me to stand facing the large St Andrews cross in the corner. Once I have assumed the position you come up behind me and cuff my wrists and ankles in place. My arms are secured high above my head and past experience tells me that after a certain time they will start to go numb. My legs are spread wide apart; I’ll feel the strain along my inner thighs in a while. But I am happy to be in position because the test is about to begin. I’m even more turned on than when you kissed me.
“Safe word?”
“Pelican.”
You ask me this every time. You know my safe word is pelican and you know I never use it.
One of your hands runs firmly down my back, coming to rest gently on the crack of my arse. Your breath is warm on the back of my neck, giving me a sense of how close you are to me.
“Beautiful white skin, Ella. All the marks from last time have gone. Would you like me to mark it again?”
A flutter rises up through me and the muscles of my vagina clench. When you ask me a direct question I’m allowed to reply.
“Yes, please.”
Now I’m excited, I’m even wetter. I writhe against the cross, pulling at my restraints, each breath coming faster than the last. What will you use today to mark my back? I listen but you’re careful to give nothing away before you start. You move around the room and then I can tell you’re standing close behind me. You make me wait. I want you to begin but you take pleasure in doing things at your own pace. I try to calm myself, to keep still. Only when I’m perfectly serene will you start the scene. I take ten deep breaths and try not to think about what is coming my way.
At last. A swish and a rush of air and what feels like a hundred tiny bites across my back. I love this sensation, this exquisite dappling of pain across my shoulder blades. This is the red leather flogger, one of your favourites. This will leave my skin red and mottled and lined; I think this is just a warm-up to the main event. You will want to use something more distinctive to make your mark. It comes again, lower down, making me suck in my breath, and you work your way down and up my back as quickly as you can. By the time the tenth blow burns across the top of my shoulders, I’m finding it hard to remain silent at each touch.
“How many?” you ask.
“Ten,” I manage, through gritted teeth.
“More?”
“Yes, more.”
TAMSIN'S SUPEROTICA 