Thursday, September 20, 2012

Right Message, Wrong Man

My contemporary BDSM story, Right Message, Wrong Man, is out from Forbidden Fiction. Here's the blurb:
Lila texted a come-on to her sometimes hook-up Jason, but instead it wound up going to her boss, Jaron. Afraid to upset her sadistic superior, Lila follows through when he responds with excitement, only to discover that Jaron knows how to hurt her in exactly the way that she needs. (M/F)

And an excerpt:

The sensible thing to do would be to explain my mistake and hope we could both move on from the embarrassment. But what then? He’d just confirmed his interest and sent a lewd text back to me. I’d seen how Jaron reacted when he thought he’d been hung out to dry. Hell, he got mad the time I asked if he wanted coffee and then forgot to go out and get it. How much worse would it be if I offered him a blow job and then made him feel like a fool?

I lifted the phone and made a few attempts to write an explanation. So sorry. That text was meant for this guy I’m seeing, whose name is a lot like yours. I can’t believe I did that. I deleted it. You will not believe how similar your name is to this guy I’m seeing... I deleted that one, too.

Wishing I could throw the phone, I looked at his texts again. Nothing could possibly be a suitable response to his line about his cock and my mouth and the alley out back—especially not after my line about wanting to get his big cock down my throat. I tried one last message. Yes, I typed. I can be there in 45. My heart pounded as my finger hovered over the send key.

I tried to talk myself out of it. Was giving my boss a blow job in an alley really less humiliating than explaining my stupid texting mistake? The boss who made me miserable every single day at work with his unreasonable demands and total lack of empathy? I pictured his unsympathetic, ex-marine face, his hands like iron around the back of my head, his cock driving down my throat harder than I’d ever had it. But the image wasn’t unappealing—on the contrary. I couldn’t imagine Jaron accepting anything less than a full deep throat, and the idea was about to make my panties melt. I really did need someone to make me forget all my stress.

The real question, I decided, was whether blowing my boss would be less humiliating than accepting yet another sympathy fuck from a guy who rejected me afresh every time I saw him. And actually, it seemed like it was. The idea of Jaron seemed hotter by the minute. I pushed send and headed for the bus that would take me to his neighborhood.

If you'd like to read more, you can buy the book here!

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