Ahhh… Sorry just had to get that out of my system – this cover is so spectacular that I couldn’t make you wait till later in the post. I just had to go for it straight off – and truth be told I’m half tempted to leave it at that. What more persuasion would you need to buy this glorious book?
But I wouldn’t be playing fair if I didn’t tell you a little more about it…
Have you ever felt the urge to submit? To pledge your body and mind to a master? To give a stranger complete control over your pain and pleasure? Intense pain, shattering orgasms, souls laid bare and skin burned with belts and canes…you’ll find it all between these covers in a collection of stories that are deliciously intense and divinely decadent. The stories D L King has curated in Slave Girls are hot and dirty – and if you’ve been harboring a secret desire to submit, somewhere deep down inside your soul, this is a book that will make you tremble…
Forever in an electric dance of give and take, pleasure and power are inextricably linked. In Slave Girls, award-winning eroticist D. L. King pulls back the velvet curtain to reveal a world where every sexual fantasy is realized, a world driven by women devoted to their own desires and their dominants. These Slave Girls want nothing more than to willingly relinquish control to the capable hands of the right Master. Trained and tested to suit every sexual taste, these women learn the ropes—literally. A hassle-filled day turns on a dime when a strong Dom takes charge in Victoria Behn’s “Hell-Bent for Leather.” In Giselle Renarde’s “Postcards from Paris,” one good girl lives for her daily dose of discipline and tough love. The thrill of being in service to a stranger compels the lust-filled sub in Rachel Kramer Bussel’s “Out of Sight.” Your own desires may surprise you after finishing the submissive exploits of Slave Girls.
From “Savoring Little One” by Graydancer
Her thighs came into view, the seam going up to be lost in the dark lace that bound each leg. I swallowed. There must be some atavistic trigger that makes the sight of a garter fastened to the top of a stocking rouse a primitive hunting instinct. It’s like a crosshairs laid over a particularly delectable prey. Almost irresistible.
The straps of each garter climbed the curves of her ass, one on each side, neatly framing the beautiful cleft between two graceful hemispheres. Her skin shone silvery pale, and again I flexed my fingers. Then I saw the dark fishtail shape of a lace thong flowing from the top of her ass over each hip and disappearing under the garter belt.
“Little One, was I mistaken in the purpose of your invitation?”
She turned her head over her shoulder, eyes surprised. This wasn’t how the script in her head was written. “Um…what?” she murmured, and then caught herself, maintaining her demeanor. “What do you mean, Sir?” She looked confused, a little lost, and my heart beat a little faster at the adorably sweet expression.
I stepped closer behind her, deliberately, keeping my face stern as I met her eyes. “I asked”—my hand went to her neck, caressing the smooth skin there—“if I was mistaken”—fingers curled up into her hair—“as to why”—tightened, her breath hissing as my fist clenched, tilting her head up and toward me—“you invited me here.”
My face was centimeters from hers, and I could feel the warm skin of her ass pressed against my trousers, her skirt still held up in tight shaking fists. She knew I wasn’t actually upset—the swell of my cock pressing through my trousers against her buttocks was evidence of that. However, arousal did not translate into kindness in our particular dynamic. In fact, it often resulted in the opposite. She knew that. I felt her tense with fearful anticipation and grind her ass against me in spite of it. Because of it.
“You asked me to come here and take you,” I growled, my eyes locked on hers. “You were quite specific about your desire for fucking and sucking and beating and kneeling and having me, for lack of a more convenient term”—I tightened my grip slightly—“fuck your shit up.” Her pupils dilated slightly with the added rush of endorphins.
“Yes, Sir…” she breathed out, an eager, trembling sound.
“And I, in turn, was quite specific as to the manner in which you were to present yourself.”
“I thought…that is, I mean, I did, Sir, I thought…” I could see her mind racing, comparing the inventory of what she was wearing with the emails and chats we’d exchanged, the many flirtations that had led to this evening. I knew she would go over and over them in her mind, looking for something she’d missed or added, round and round in her head, and I let her wheels spin.
The fact was that she was perfect. She was wearing exactly what I’d requested, from the long skirt to the thin white cotton blouse. Heels to hair and everything in between, lovely and luscious and a feast for my eyes to savor.
But beauty is only part of this kind of play. The spice comes from the fear and the sweet dissonance of conflicting desires, to please and to be punished.
My part was, in effect, to season the experience. To taste.
“It’s not the ‘what,’ Little One. It’s the ‘how.’ Do you recall my views on the proper deportment of thong and garter belt?”
“Yes, Sir…you prefer the thong over the garter belt.”
“Yes, Little One, that’s what I said. And you responded with a very particular statement, one that I never forgot.” I turned her head slightly so that my warm breath tickled her sensitive ear. “You said you’d never had occasion to dress in such a slutty way.”
She didn’t reply, but I felt her body react to the words.
“So I’m forced to wonder if perhaps I was misled as to the nature of this occasion. Perhaps you don’t want to be on your knees. To feel my cock fill your throat till you gasp but still want it deeper. That sopping cunt of yours slam-fucked till you can barely walk, forced to cum for me till you’re hoarse and still beg for more.” I made the words guttural, growling, letting the monosyllables strike her desire with physical force. She was grinding against me harder now, and it took every bit of resolve I had not to push back.
But no, I was a rock of will upon which her growing lust crashed, and I continued. “That’s how I remember our conversation. That’s what I thought you invited me for.” I hissed angrily in her ear. “Was I wrong?”
She whimpered softly. “No…”
“Then say it. Tell me what you want.”
“I…I want you, Sir.”
“That’s all? Simple enough. I’m here.” I tightened my fingers again, eliciting another soft, high moan. “Your ass says you want more. Tell me what you want, Little One.”
She made another keening sound, and I shook her slightly. “Tell me!”
“I…I want you to…to fuck me, Sir.” Suddenly the barrier was broken, and the words poured out in a rush. “I want to taste you…I…I want to suck you hard and cum on your hard…c—” She paused for a moment, and I thought I might have to pull the word out of her, but then she swallowed, licked her lips, and forced it out. “Your…c-cock over and over and feel your hand on me, in me, taking me, I want you to take me, Sir, use me…” Her tongue darted out to wet her lips again, and one more word whispered out. “Hard.”