Wow! After 23 amazing contributions by 24 outstanding erotica writers, we’ve finally come to the final day! Before I sign off I just want to thank all the writers involved – I feel honored that you all agreed to jump on board with me – and I also want to thank everyone who’s stopped by to read each day. I hope you’ve reconnected with some of your favorite writers, as well as discovering new ones to investigate further.
Today’s excerpt is one of my own, and given Alchemy xii is about to launch on its year-long odyssey, I’m sure none of you are surprised that this is where my choice hails from. This scene is taken from Alchemy xii – New Year’s Eve, the first episode in Harry and Olivia’ story.
Happy Christmas, everyone!
He led her out of the elevator and took her to a room so seemingly benign she might have thought it was a luxury hotel. Harry knew otherwise. Tonight would be anything but benign as far as she was concerned.
His weapons. Her pleasure. His heart rate crept up as he put the keycard in the slot to open the door. He ushered her into the small vestibule. It was weird he should feel nervous at what lay in store. After all, she was the one being unwittingly subjected to a job interview. She would be scrutinized, challenged, her boundaries pushed and reactions assessed. It might be all new to her but for him, well, he did this every day of the week. He liked that she made him feel this way.
“Harry, what is this place?” she said, walking into the room and throwing her coat down on over a chair.
He followed her in and fiddled with the air conditioning. A vast four-poster bed with twisted columns of silver filigree at each corner and pale grey silk drapes dominated the room. In contrast to the ornate bed, the rest of the suite had been decorated with restraint—minimalist grey and silver.
“It’s a club. Like Master Blasters, only a little more expensive to join.”
“Alchemy? I thought that was an urban myth.”
“We like it that way. It’s the reason why there’s no sign above the door and no matchbooks in the bar. The only place you’ll see an Alchemy logo is as a tattoo.”
“So what were you doing at Master Blasters?”
Harry walked over to Olivia, shedding his coat on the way. He kept walking at her until he had her backed up against a wall. Her eyes widened and her breath drew faster, but she held his gaze steadily. Harry felt his own heart rate rise. He caught her wrists and pinned them to the wall above her head.
“In here, you don’t ask me questions,” he said. “In here, I’m your Dom. Do you understand what that means?”
Olivia nodded but Harry saw the pulse at the base of her neck start jumping. He had a desperate urge to lick the translucent skin of her throat but if he did he might not stop till he fucked her. And tonight wasn’t about fucking her.
“Have you ever submitted before?”
This time Olivia shook her head. “No.”
“But because of what you saw in the club, you think you want this?”
She didn’t hesitate with her answer. She sounded sure. Harry changed his grip so he could hold both her wrists with just one of his hands. He let his other hand drop to her face. He ran a finger down her jawline, then along her lips. She opened her mouth and, with a small sigh, her tongue darted out to lick his finger. Harry pulled it away and gripped her chin.
“I’m going to find out if you really do want it,” he said.
He walked away from her to retrieve his cigarettes from his coat. Lighting one, he dropped into a deep armchair by the window. He pointed to a spot on the floor in front of him. The girl blinked as she tried to work out what he wanted her to do, then she went and stood on the spot.
“Undress for me,” he said.
As soon as she raised her hands up to the front of her basque to undo the top fastening, Harry’s cock sent him a message.
“Wait,” he said, stubbing out his cigarette in an ashtray. “I’ll do it.”
Standing in front of her, he could feel the heat coming off her body and smell the pungency of her arousal beneath her perfume. He took a deep breath, savoring her aroma. He walked around her, examining her close up like a horse trader assessing a new mare.
“Do I make the grade?” Her voice sounded husky. It made Harry want to put his mouth on hers to literally taste the words as she spoke.
He ignored the question and came to a standstill behind her. He reached out to dip a finger into the waistline of her skirt, just below the small of her back. Her skin was hot. His touch was rewarded by a small shimmy passing through her bare shoulders. He leaned in to bite one of them, not hard, but enough to make her flinch and momentarily lose her footing. Her skin tasted of salt. Harry had to fight the urge to just push her onto the bed and fuck her.
Not tonight. He undid the button and slid down the zipper of her skirt but the soft fabric still clung tightly around her hips. He slid his hands inside and pushed the skirt down, caressing the round swell of her buttocks as he did. Olivia swayed slightly, breathing heavily as his hands moved across her. The skirt slid away to the floor, leaving Harry standing with his hands on the back of her thighs, at the tops of her stockings. He drank in legs that went on forever encased in sheer black nylon all the way down to her vertiginous heels. Deftly, she stepped out of the pool of crumpled fabric and flicked it away with her foot. Harry wanted to push against her, press his hard cock to her buttocks, reaching his hands around to slip them inside the front of her basque. He wanted to push her up against the wall and take her hard from behind.
He raised his hands to her shoulders and spun her so they were standing face to face. He knew some men would have made her take her shoes off but he didn’t care that she had inches on him. Her long legs were magnificent. All he wanted was to lose himself between them and to have them wrapped around his waist as he fucked her or hooked over his shoulders as he fucked her deeper.
She stood in front of him in her basque and black lace panties so diaphanous he could see right through them. Harry’s erection fought against his pants, so he paused momentarily to enjoy the sensation. Damn! Sometimes it was hard to remember he was working.
“Undo your corset,” he said, stepping back.
Slowly, she undid each hook-and-eye fastening to reveal, an inch at a time, the creamy white expanse of her décolletage. Her breasts were straining to escape, perfect orbs tipped with round dark points that pushed for freedom. As she pulled the basque away to one side, Harry retreated to the chair. The urge to fuck her became overwhelming. But he was determined not to give in to it.
“Harry, are we going to…?”
Harry focused and stood up again.
“Listen, darlin’, if you’re going to give submission a try, there’s one thing we need to get straight. You submit. I command.”
Olivia’s eyes dropped to the floor.
“Give me a safe word.”
“I intend to make you use it.”
Feisty worked for him. He’d never been one for totally subservient subs. It took all the fun out it. And he wasn’t looking for just another sub anyway. He picked up one of her wrists and pulled her across to stand at a corner of the bed. Time to play hardball.
“Put your hands up.”
She did as she was told without question, placing both hands high on the spiraled silver post. Harry went to the cabinet beside the bed to fetch a set of leather cuffs. He returned to where she stood waiting, such a visual feast of pale, creamy skin, black lace, and tumbling hair against the sinuous twists of silver. God, who else could say all in a day’s work to something like this?
“Hands,” he said. She took them off the post and held them out to him.
He buckled the restraints around her wrists, watching her face as he did. Olivia’s lips shone wet. Her cheeks were flushed as she stared wide-eyed at his fingers securing the cuffs. When both were done up, he lifted the short length of chain between them and clipped the links to a small ring high on the bedpost. He put a finger on the tiny blue pulse at her throat. Its rhythm matched the throbbing at the base of his cock—he had to step back and take a breath.
“Do you come easily?”
“It depends who I’m with,” she said, without looking round at him.
“You’re with me.”
“Then we’ll see.”
The urge to kiss her brattish mouth came second only to the urge to mark her pristine skin. Foreplay was over. Harry went to the closet where he knew he’d find what he wanted to use on her. He would start with a paddle to test how far she let him go. He chose a smooth one made of firm black leather, trying it on his hand. Olivia started at the noise. Harry knew this would be the precise moment she wondered if she really wanted to go through with it or not.
“You can use your safeword,” he said, slapping the paddle harder on his palm.
She rested her forehead against the silver post and braced her legs. Just one thing left to do. He stuck the paddle into the back of his waistband to free his hands. Then, very gently, with the softest touch, he slowly slid her panties down her thighs and let them drop to her ankles. Olivia’s shoulders rose and fell as she sucked in a deep breath. Harry took a step back, lining himself up just a little to the left of her—the perfect position for his right hand to reach its target. He retrieved the paddle from his back.
Olivia gave a sharp cry.
“Count,” said Harry.
“One.” Her voice rang out strong and steady. Harry guessed the cry had been from shock rather than pain.
He struck her again, across both buttocks just as he had the first time. This time, although her body jerked, she made no sound at the moment of impact.
Roses blossomed on the soft curves of her bottom, making Harry’s trousers feel tighter than ever. The room was hot, the silence only broken by the rhythmic slap of the paddle, Harry’s step back, Olivia’s count, followed by Harry’s step forward for the next slap. Harry kept the pace steady, very slowly building up the intensity. He wanted to hear his girl gasp or whimper, or suck in her breath tight as her body jerked against the cold metal of the post. But Olivia stayed braced on firm legs, and only the slight catch in her voice as she said each number gave him any clue as to how she was taking the pain. So far, she was taking it fine.
When they reached sixteen, Harry dropped the paddle on the floor and went to her. He laid a palm across one of her buttocks. She winced, but he could see her smile from the side. He slid his finger lower, into the crevice between her legs. She was wet, fabulously wet, sighing at his touch.
“Not yet,” he whispered in her ear. “This is only the beginning.”