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Week One Excerpt - Part One
Welcome back to the wonderful world of NaNoWriMo, where I try to finish a novel in a month. Well, actually where I'm trying to finish the novel I began last year. And just like last year, here's an excerpt from what I've done for Week One of this literary adventure. As always, please enjoy.
This was amazing!
Sam Schaffer’s grip on Fischer’s left elbow tightened as they entered the darkened, black painted, cavelike club. She could hear the hard, pounding music raging to the red strobe lights pulsing wildly about the space. She could see barely lit people in all states of dress.
She blinked at a woman who was wearing tight leather pants and nothing more than two crisscrossed strips of duct tape over her nipples. A man led another woman around in handcuffs attached to his belt. A dark-haired woman stood in the middle of the dance floor swinging a long, heavy whip as she swiveled and swayed. A group of men watched her, fascinated.
Sam’s feet tripped as she lingered just a bit too long, staring at her gyrating hips. Fisher had a rule that, out in public—but especially tonight—when they were walking, she was to stay one step behind him on his left side. But that wasn’t the easiest to do with the dense crowd, writhing around her. She flinched as some dancer’s flogger flicked too close to her face. She ducked and shuffled closer to Fischer. There was just so much going on everywhere.
A part of her nervously shied away from it all while she watched a mostly naked man follow a latex-clad Domme on his knees as he licked the floor where she’d walked. But a part of her longed to dive right in. Her eyes widened as they came close to the club’s dungeon. It was a small, packed room filled with tables and booths of spectators, sipping drinks and enjoying the show. In the front corners of the room, two Dommes, sensually wrapped in leather and lace, worked over two hooded, bare-backed subs chained to the room’s walls.
The strikes of their crop and two-tailed whip punctuated the music blaring behind them. The strobe lights flickered over the Dommes’ thin, toned bodies. Even in the poor lighting, Sam could see blood dribble down the male sub’s back as the sharp whip bit into his flesh. She heard the female sub moan, the high-pitched sound quivering between pain and pleasure as her arms hung slack from the chains and her back arched with each slap of her Domme’s crop.
“Do you want me to put you on the list?” Fischer asked, leaning to whisper into her ear even as he pulled her closer against his body. She could feel him aroused and eager against her hip and wondered if he would enjoy seeing her bound to the wall in front of all these people.
“Would you be playing with me?” she asked.
He shook his head. “This is their space,” he told her. “Their equipment. Their toys. But,” he said, biting her ear and making her shiver, “I’d be right here watching.”
Sam bit her lip. She didn’t know. She watched the Dommes turn to swap partners, letting the crop that had been leaving harsh lines on the woman now mark the man and the whip that had cut into the man’s skin now sting and slash across the woman’s already abused back. Sam had never played with anyone but Fischer. Hadn’t even thought about what that would be like.
“C’mon,” he murmured against her temple. He ground his hip against hers, pressing himself hard and urgent against her. “You wanted to see what this was like, right? Here’s your chance.”
Sam worried her lip as the whipped woman’s cries rung in her ears.
Sam shook her head. “I don’t think that I can do that,” she said worriedly. “Not tonight anyway.”
Fischer frowned, but nodded. “All right,” he said with a bit of a pout. “I understand.” He took her hand and placed it in the crook of his elbow. “How about we grab a seat and just enjoy the show then?”
Sam gave him a relieved smile. She’d like that a lot. She followed him through the crowd to a booth closer to the front of the room. She noticed several couples like she and Fischer gathered in the crowd. A steampunk princess sat on a goth guy’s lap, grinding her hips over his as they kissed. A badass biker had his hand up a giggling, masked girl’s dress. Sam blinked and stared as they passed a couple hidden in the dark corners of another booth. She could barely see the guy—he was nothing more than tattered denim cuffs and an unlaced pair of tennis shoes—but the girl on her hands and knees on the bench bobbed in an obvious rhythm over him.
It was raw. Untamed and unapologetic. As if, in the shadows of the night, every dirty desire came out into the light. As if the dark gave them permission to want—to embrace—the darker sides of themselves. Her grin widened as Fischer ushered her into a booth with a sweeping bow. She curtseyed before she sidled onto the bench, smiling as she thought of Fischer watching her wiggle into the tight space in her short skirt and stockings. She looked back over her shoulder at him, enjoying the dazed look on his face as his eyes focused on her ass. She giggled.
Without warning, she felt him—hard and unyielding—against her back, a crushing arm wrapped around her waist. “Are you laughing at me?” His voice was a grizzled rasp.
Her breath caught in her throat. She tried to swallow, but she couldn’t. She shook her head as panic clawed at her skin.
“Sounds like you are,” he scolded, the sound cutting through the club’s noise. “Were, anyway.” He gave his own graveled laugh as his hand opened on her belly, his fingers stretched possessively across her body. “Not laughing now.”
She gasped as his hands grabbed her hips and jerked her back, making her fall to her hands and knees on the bench. Her heart raced and she panted. With her bent-over and backside-up, she felt exposed in the crowded club. She couldn’t see from her position, but she thought she could feel every person’s gaze centered on her. Felt their held collective breath as they waited—as she waited—to see what would happen next.
“ ‘Must be because you know you’ve been bad,’ ” she heard Fischer say, his hands and his voice feeling so large and imposing at this moment. “ ‘You must know you need to be punished.’ ”
She recognized the lines from her favorite BDSM novel, Steele’s Edge. Elliette Roberts’s writing coming out of Fischer’s mouth. Gregor Steele’s words said in Fischer’s voice. Sam’s face flushed and she felt her stomach flutter.
Reveling in the perfection of the moment, she welcomed the slap of Fischer’s hand against her ass. The sting of it made her moan and arch her back. Heat hummed along her skin.
Pip Jones giggled and led Phil Schaffer into one of the private rooms. “C’mon,” she said, pulling him into the room and shutting the door behind them. “According to the sign-up sheet, this room is open for the next twenty minutes.”
“Is that right?” Phil raised an eyebrow as he reached for her, shifting to press her back against the wall.
Pip let her head hit the hard surface when she felt his lips against her neck. She moaned and cupped the back of his head, holding him to her while he nipped and licked at her skin. She pulled his head up to hers for a heated kiss. She felt ravenous. She couldn’t touch enough of him.
Her hands reached for his clothes even as his found hers. She unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off his shoulders between kisses, the feel of his sleek skin hot and smooth under her hands. She shuddered as he slipped her suit’s zipper down. The metal pull from her throat, between her breasts, down her stomach, and past her navel felt electric. He reached beneath the fabric and pressed his hands against her breasts, rasping her nipples along eager palms. His hands moved down, tracing over her ribcage and along her hips. His fingers dipped over her thighs to the apex of her legs.
She grabbed his wrists and held them tight in her hands. Not quite yet. She grinned. She wasn’t quite ready for thins to progress that far. Not yet. There was too much she wanted to do still. No, no. She was far from done yet.
With one of his wrists in each hand, she thrust them behind his back and frog-marched him across the room, using their heated kiss to guide him. She used her body to press him to the wall, trapping his hands against it at shoulder-height. She bit and sucked at his lips, sliding her tongue inside his welcome mouth to play with his, while she slid his hands high above his head. God, he tasted good, like mint and heat and man.
She let go of one wrist and was more than pleased when he kept his hand where it was. He was such a good sport. She grabbed one of the cuffs dangling from a hook in the ceiling and snapped it over the wrist she still held.
She smiled as Phil tore his lips from hers. “Uhhh,” he said as he looked up at his now bound wrist. He pulled his arm down, yanking on the long chain holding the cuffs together. “You sure about this?”
Pip jumped up and snatched the other cuff before he could tug it out of reach, stopping his arm’s movement. Wouldn’t want to ruin their fun before it even got started. She smiled as she released the cuff’s latch. “Oh, absolutely.” She held out her hand for his other one. “Are you?”
Read Part Two Here