The Sex Slave's Final Punishment (Initiation 3, Book 4)

Dear Readers, this book has been blocked by Amazon for hair-raising content. But it is available at Nook, Smashwords, All Romance EBooks, Bookstrand and Kobo.

So please find the final story of The Initiation 3 at all these outlets while I figure what to do with Amazon. I will have to alter the content if I want to get it to Amazon, but then it would not be a true continuation of the story as it is supposed to be.

THEY ARE STRANGERS IN A STRANGE, SEXED-UP LAND. THEY SOUGHT FREEDOM, AND NOW THEY MUST PAY THE PRICE.

Gina, Max and Greg have been caught trying to escape from the dictator’s clutches. They must now willingly submit to sexual indignities by the guards, who see them as nothing more than playthings.

Most final of all, they are sentenced to death by the Guillotine.

Can Gina find a way out for herself and her friends, or must she succumb to their final, very public hour?

This 12000 word BDSM novelette is the final volume of ‘The Initiation 3’ series. ‘The Initiation 1’ and ‘The Initiation 2’ have been in the Amazon US Top 2 Erotica and Top 30 Romance bestseller charts. The series has sold well over 95,000 copies.

EXCERPT:

I get an inkling of what they are talking about as the guard places his hand on my bare thigh. He lifts it and pulls my right leg onto his clothed lap, so that my pussy is displayed like an open anemone. The driver takes his hand off the wheel long enough to do the same to my left leg.

I am now as open as an invitation card. Where they want me to be. I am extremely aware of how I must look, with my red pussy displayed to the windshield – zooming head on like a bull to the elements beyond. A trickle of juice leaks from my vagina to stain the seat. I flush. I wonder if they notice this.

They will soon enough, because the guard begins to caress my pussy. His fingers and thumb are very clever, surprisingly, and he soon strokes and rubs my clit into what passes for an erection in my nubile, female body. My toes curl and I feel a paean of illicit sensation as he oozes his fingers into the folds between my labia and clit.

Ohhhh.

I long to close my legs. But his fingers dig in further. Rub, stroke, back, forth. I steal a look at his face, and he is not looking down at my pussy at all. Rather, he is eyeing my face. Gauging how I am reacting to his probing. I’m afraid my face and high color betray it all.

He massages me until I am twitching and grinding my crotch against the cracked leather seat in ecstasy. I can’t help myself. My body has its own pleasure havens, and my mind can scant overrule their natural libidos.

The men are laughing at my reaction. I can bet they are saying:

“Filthy whore.”

“Skanky American.”

“Fucking cunt.”

One finger dips into my creamy hole. And then deeper. He’s practically coring my vaginal tunnel. Another finger joins the first. He’s stretching me. Seeing how much my walls can and will resist.

Open Your Curvy Legs for Me (BBW BDSM Erotic Romance)

A BBW EROTIC ROMANCE TWIST ON THE AMAZON TOP 2 EROTICA BESTSELLER!

Mariel Honeycutt is a proud, plus-sized Ivy League college freshman. She thinks she's got it all figured out, until she meets Michael Pitt, a blond senior who is the athletic toast of campus. He's gorgeous, rich and seemingly unattainable by the likes of her.

So why does his head turn to watch her as he walks past? Why does he ask her out on a mysterious rendezvous?

Michael Pitt is ashamed of his affinities. He likes plus-sized women, but his friends and parents have certain expectations of how a seemingly charmed golden boy should behave . . . in public. He also likes to tie his women up in uncomfortable positions as he makes love to them.

Can Mariel and Michael, two opposites in every way, have any semblance of a relationship?

This is a 20,000-word BBW BDSM Erotic Romance version of the Amazon Erotica Top 2 Bestsellers, OPEN YOUR LEGS FOR ME and THIGHS WIDE APART.

Excerpt:

"You know what BDSM is all about?" he says casually, as if he's talking about the weather.

I nod . . . and then I shake my head slowly.

"I know . . . some theory," I say slowly.

We could have been talking about some project we were planning to write. I don't know. Maybe I will write a thesis about this. Too bad I'm doing Microbiology.

"Just so you know," he says, "I'm a dom these days."

"Dom?"

"Dominant."

Yes. I figured as much. Something in my gut quails, like an undigested food morsel.

"There's a safe word you can use," he goes on. "You see, 'no' doesn't cut it in BDSM."

"I read about that," I say truthfully.

"So what safe word would you like?"

Uh, safe word? He assumes I'm going through with it. I swallow. Well, I am.

I lick my lips. He's still looking at me as if I'm temptation itself. I think he sees me through Impressionist glasses. I must be like one of those plump Renoir lasses. The ones who are gorgeous and eminently huggable. Or the Queen of Sheba, whom I am told is of massive proportions.

"I think I would like 'Sheba'," I say.

My cheeks flame. Now, where did that come from?

"'Sheba' it is. Now, anytime you're uncomfortable with what is happening, I want you to say 'Sheba'."

I nod. Dread settles onto the pit of my stomach. It swirls with the slow churn of acid and exhilaration. Damn it, I am excited. My nerves are jangling in their synapses. How can they not be? I am about to be deflowered all over again. It's a rite of passage. A milestone in my sexual pilgrim's progress.

He seats himself on the couch.

I stand in front of him.

He sprawls, his muscular legs splayed wide open, displaying a firm bulge in between. Oh my God, so fast? The tight denim of his jeans encases this bulge like a wrapper around a rapidly expanding balloon. He wears a white wife beater.

My hands are nervously wringing themselves. Why doesn't he say anything? Do anything? Why does he merely stare at me from that couch as if I'm a piece of meat?

I wonder if he can tell that I've put on fresh panties for this occasion. They're white, lacy and wonderfully girly.

"Take off your jeans," he says, folding his hands behind his marvelous head. His blond hair is cropped short. Swimmer style.

It has started. The mood has significantly changed here. It's as though a whole season has shifted by and we have fast-forwarded to . . . something else. Something darker and rife with infinite possibilities. Like we are role-playing.

Or maybe not.