SoloPlay (17 page)

Look for these titles by Miranda Baker

Now Available:

Bottoms Up

Love is the hardest limit.

Bottoms Up

© 2010 Miranda Baker

Come Again, Book 1

“I’m an Aries. We don’t submit.”

“I’m a Leo. Wanna bet?”

Destiny Blake senses that her boredom with blond pretty boys is about to come to a flesh-tingling end. Since her first love left her for a more experienced Domme, she’s honed her topping skills to a fine edge. Yet the idea of bottoming for the hard-bodied owner of her favorite BDSM club is an erotic challenge she can’t resist.
 

Destiny isn’t Johnny Delcorral’s type. Tangling with her, even for one night, is a dangerous proposition for a man with good reason for needing his women submissive. But he suspects she's hiding a submissive streak under her dreadlocks and leather, and he hungers to make her obey—and curb her reckless spirit.

The battle is on, both in the bedroom and out. Under Johnny’s knowing hands, she is dismayed to discover she’s enjoying submission more than she cares to admit. And Johnny finds himself relishing her defiance instead of curbing it—and fighting a growing unease with his inability to find her boundaries.

Until one night he pushes one step too far—and comes hard up against the one boundary he never expected to find.

Warning: This book contains naked power struggles, sexually charged spankings, kink from chains to canes, an Upstairs sex club, a hot m/f/m ménage, and absolutely everything the title promises.
 

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Bottoms Up:

So this is what it feels like to be a sub.

The thought hit her like a bucket of ice water. Her brain rebelled. She was no sub. She wouldn’t let this happen. For three years, ever since Damian had left her for that crazy bitch with the snake whip, she had immersed herself in Dominance. She wasn’t going to let Johnny Delcorral destroy all of her hard work in one night, damn it, just because she had, once again, done something rash.

Her bustier hit the floor. Johnny pinched her right nipple, hard. She gasped. It felt like he had pinched her clit. The clip gripped her tight flesh with piercing pain. Tears stung her eyes, but she didn’t cry out.

“Good girl. Ready for the other one?”

She nodded.

Again she felt the hard pinch of his fingers, the pleasure, the pain, then just the pleasure. She felt her body temperature rising. He gave the chain between the clips a slight tug, and she thrust her breasts forward.

“Tell me how that feels. Do you like it?”

She pressed her lips together.

Johnny smiled. “Stubborn, much?” He ran his finger down her stomach. She watched, hypnotized by the chain swaying between her breasts.

Johnny attached a second chain, then dropped it through the loop between her legs. His fingers were deft as he fastened the end of the delicate chain to her clit ring.

He exerted the tiniest bit of pressure.

She stepped forward.

He grinned. “I think I like you leashed.”

Destiny dropped her eyes, noticing on the way down that his cock was hard again. This passive role felt foreign to her. Yet at the same time, her pussy was so wet, so full, it was impossible to deny that she was enjoying his commands. Her body clamored to meet his demands. Subbing had been a lark, a dare, a new challenge, but now she feared it might become something more. The body was hardwired to the brain, the subconscious, the very essence of her being. And if her being was enjoying this, submitting to Johnny could change her life.

Not going to happen.

He could do his worst, his best, and she would not give up control of her Dominant
self
, not completely. She had agreed to follow his commands, and she would. She would do everything he asked. But she was going to try like hell not to enjoy it. If she failed, then fine, he’d make her orgasm. Whatever. She wasn’t going to let him in her head, though.

Johnny raised his hand in an imperious yet courtly gesture. “Get on the bed. On your back.”

She obeyed, but slowly. The chain tugged her clit and her nipples as she walked, driving her toward the bed even as her conflicted thoughts screamed caution.

Before she could reconcile the two, she found herself stretched out on her back with Johnny standing between her legs. He reached up and caught the end of a retractable rope hanging from a track on the ceiling. He pulled it down to her center. She swallowed hard as he lifted the chain from her belly and carefully attached it to the rope. When he was finished, her small breasts hung by their peaks and her clit stood at attention.

“Don’t move,” he said, diabolical eyes dancing as he stepped off the bed.

As if she could. She was immobilized by the thin chains and ropes attached to her most delicate parts. She had no way to escape, especially when he drew soft, black cords from each corner of the bed and loosely captured her wrists and ankles. The wrist and ankle restraints were purely symbolic, but, boy, did they do their job well. The Domme part of her appreciated the fact that he left some play in the cords to protect her clit and her nipples, but she was dismayed to discover she liked feeling confined.

Destiny closed her eyes to try to block out some of the disturbing sensory stimulation, but being sightless heightened the sensations coursing through her body. Her mouth felt swollen from his cock, and she could still taste his salt on her tongue. Her nipples swelled under the clips in a constant state of steadily increasing arousal. The thin chains connecting her nipples and clitoris conducted sharp, hot pleasure through her body in a continuous loop.

She arched her back, gasping as the change in position intensified the effect, then almost screaming as she settled back on the bed and discovered that the retractable rope had just enough tension in it to give her clit and nipples a delicious tug. Her thighs fell wide. Her pelvis thrust toward the ceiling. She felt as if he had driven a wedge into a tiny crack in her façade and split her wide open.

The bed slowly dipped. The chains dragged against her. It felt so good. So delicious.
Oh, my God
, she thought.
What have I done?

Every deal has a loophole.

Restraining the Receptionist

© 2011 Juniper Bell

…the Receptionist, Book 2

Dana Arthur’s new job with the firm of Cowell & Dirk is going well. Translation: the occasionally kinky ménage with her two bosses, Ethan and Simon, has been several months of politically incorrect bliss.

Except the relationship feels unbalanced. While Ethan is the undisputed master, the partners’ iron-clad agreement stipulates that Simon must be present as she performs her “duties”. And she senses there’s a subtle, powerful tug-of-war developing for more than just her body.

Simon had agreed to share the firm’s fiery, sensually daring receptionist…to a point. With Simon out of town, Ethan plans a feast of erotic temptations designed to have Dana begging him to break the deal. He didn’t realize his heart would be a casualty.

Once she surrenders to his wicked demands, Dana realizes there’s no going back. It’s time for a three-way renegotiation…this time, all or nothing.

Warning: NSFW!! Do Not Try This at Your Job. Contains highly inappropriate workplace behavior including m/f/m, m/m, bondage, creative use of office space and a high-stakes trip to Atlantic City.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Restraining the Receptionist:

My unpredictable number one boss showed up in a new mood the next day. I’d never seen him light-hearted before. Now that I had an idea about his history, not a big surprise. But that’s exactly how he seemed when he breezed into the office. He wore casual clothes, blue jeans and a light blue open-collared shirt that made his eyes look like summer without the smog.

“I’ve got no pesky clients today, luv,” he told me, without pausing by my desk to check my outfit, which he usually did. “I’d like you to order us a picnic lunch.”

“Huh?”

“Picnic. You have those in America, right? Or are they banned in the great state of New York?”

“We have them, but you can’t even spread out a blanket without kicking aside a stray used needle or two.” As soon as I said it I remembered the heroin. “I…I’m sorry,” I stammered.

But my thoughtless reference didn’t make him miss a beat. “A little local color will add to the experience, I’m sure. Handle the details and we’ll go around noon.”

Did a picnic violate the terms of our deal? Ethan and I would be doing something outside of work, just the two of us, something intimate. Almost like a date. But he hadn’t suggested anything physical. It was lunch. We both had to eat, right? It seemed perfectly harmless.

Since I was working from the company petty cash fund, I called up the neighborhood yuppie café where they served giant organic sandwiches. On my budget, I would have gone for a Subway footlong. But Ethan would no doubt demand something better.

We held our picnic on a concrete bench in a sweltering park a few blocks away from the office. Dog walkers and stroller-pushers, listless from the heat, wandered by now and then, but otherwise we were alone. The humid heat pressed on us like a steam iron. My hair stuck to my cheeks as I bit into my upscale sandwich.

Ethan didn’t comment on the slabs of free-range chicken that had probably been hand-raised and read bedtime stories before being slaughtered and inserted into a sandwich. He did remove the unruly mound of bean sprouts and toss it to a nearby pigeon. The pigeon pecked at the stuff, clucked scornfully and waddled the other direction.

I couldn’t help giggling at Ethan’s wounded expression. “I wouldn’t take it personally,” I told him. “He’s a New York pigeon. He’s used to eating dog crap.”

He chuckled. “Have you lived here your whole life, Dana?”

The sheer ordinariness of the question unnerved me. “Well, except for that semester abroad in Paris, and the year I spent in Fiji with the Peace Corps. I’m joking,” I added, when he didn’t laugh.

“Oh. Well, I’m certainly familiar with your sense of humor, but I confess I don’t understand the joke. You could have done those things.”

I let out a spurt of laughter that startled the pigeon. “I had other things to do.”

“Like what?”

“Like dodge my father’s fists after a drinking binge.”

“Ah.” Ethan didn’t show sympathy or disapproval or anything else. He chewed on his stack of multi-grain goodness. “And your mother?”

“No clue. My father always said she ran away, but for all I know he has her body dismembered in a freezer somewhere.”

That earned me a sharp taste of Blue Fury.

“I’m kidding. I have a dark sense of humor. My father’s not that bad. And my stepmother would have gone for poison instead.”

A crack of laughter from Ethan. “You really are something, you know that? You fascinate me.”

I filled my mouth with sandwich so I didn’t have to answer that. I was very much afraid the fascination was mutual. We settled into a munching, digesting kind of silence. He had one ankle crossed over the opposite knee, and occasionally his bent leg would brush against mine. Every time it happened, a little jolt of awareness zinged straight to my groin. Did he know it was happening? Was he doing it deliberately?

“Your knee keeps touching me.”

“Does it?” He didn’t move away.

“That’s against the rules.”

“So sorry.” But he didn’t look sorry. He looked entirely unconcerned, even though he moved his knee away. “One of these days we must write these rules down. For instance, is all physical contact forbidden while Simon is away, or only that of a sexual nature?”

Lord, why did he have to say “sexual” with that spark in his eyes and that slant of his eyebrow? It wasn’t fair, damn it.

“Another example. I’ve been longing to tell you how delicious you look today and how the shadow of your nipples through the fabric of your blouse keeps drawing my eyes. But is verbal praise also off-limits, since I’d be unable to keep it G-rated, I’m afraid?”

“You can’t see my nipples through my blouse!” I looked down to make sure.

“Oh, yes, I can. I know what they’re doing right now. They’re just beginning to stir to life. You’re probably feeling a pleasant prickling as they become engorged. I’ve realized something about you, you know. The sound of my voice has a powerful effect on you.”

So right he was. I tried to block out his voice. Might as well try to stop the Hudson River.

“In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if I could bring you to orgasm just with my voice. I wouldn’t have to touch you at all. All I’d have to do is tell you what I wanted to do to you. I’d tell you how much I want to bend you over this bench and take you in the open air. Or how much I’d like to tie you to that birch tree over there, open your blouse and bring you to orgasm with my fist up your cunt. Sure, someone might see. For instance, those three fellows playing Frisbee over there. It’s entirely possible they’d start to notice when I tied your hands behind the tree and ripped off your blouse. Maybe they’d even come running to your rescue.”

His gravelly voice hypnotized me so I could practically picture the scene. My body melted into a shivery puddle of craving.

“And then, of course, I’d have no choice but to invite them to join us, either as witnesses or participants. They look like red-blooded, able-bodied, clean-cut gentlemen, nothing to fear. I’d have to convince them you were willing. More than willing. Eager. I’d have to show them how wet you already were, just from having your breasts exposed. You like being exposed, don’t you?”

“Stop,” I murmured. This was going into an area we’d never touched. Other men had had no place in our games so far.

As soon as I told him to stop, he did. And as soon as he did, I wanted him to start again. After all, what was the harm? He was going there in imagination only.

“Well…” I cleared my throat. “Would you let them touch my breasts?”