Eternity Collar – ebook

$3.99

Taren – ‘scene’ name Little Sister – is dying to know what happens in the basement of the SM Club Leather Heel. Bravely venturing downstairs one night, she faces her first bdsm scene, when she’s blindfolded and played with by a handful of strangers. The scene is rough, the sex is hot, and she gets her fill of whips, cocks and bondage. However later, when she’s anonymously presented with an Eternity Collar, she’s scared to death of what it means and runs away, vowing to never to return.

Description

Eternity Collar by Alexander Kelly

Taren – ‘scene’ name Little Sister – is dying to know what happens in the basement of the SM Club Leather Heel. Bravely venturing downstairs one night, she faces her first bdsm scene, when she’s blindfolded and played with by a handful of strangers. The scene is rough, the sex is hot, and she gets her fill of whips, cocks and bondage. However later, when she’s anonymously presented with an Eternity Collar, she’s scared to death of what it means and runs away, vowing to never to return.

A few years later, Taren discovers that her friends Malina and Randi have made a pact to join a shadowy SM group known only as ‘the circuit’. When Randi backs out at the last minute, she reveals to Taren that the circuit is recruiting new members at the Leather Heel. Alarmed, Taren hurries to stop Malina from a making foolish mistake. But instead, she’s mistaken for Randi and gets swept into this mysterious world. As the group moves from one location to the next, Taren is passed around amongst the members, engaging in a variety of bdsm scenes and relentless sex. Taren can’t help but feel the extreme pleasures of submission come flooding back, though she still wars inside herself about these strange desires. One master on the circuit, Hayden, seems to have a particular need to make her suffer. A prearranged safeword could win her an early exit. Otherwise, she’ll remain a slave on the circuit until her term is complete. A powerful tale of desire and surrender, with strong bdsm content, including female submission, bondage, lesbian and group scenes.

Additional information

Artist Credit

Cover Art © Simon Podgorsek – iStock.com

ISBN

9781935897194

Publish Date

01/14/2009

Word Count

65756

Page Count

121

Excerpt

It should have read something else, which would have been more to the point, but once inside, you discovered the owner didn’t put a lot of upkeep into the place, so when the petering out glowing neon gas started to rearrange a letter, it just somehow fit. The sign was like a beacon for all the leather teddies; dom, sub, gay, straight, pointing the way for everyone in the scene to find others of like mind. A few went there all the time, living the lifestyle to the fullest, others on certain nights, while most walked through that door only when they couldn’t stand another day without the smell of leather, the unforgiving hug of the ropes, or the smack of leather on flesh.
I belonged to the last group. My involvement had started innocently enough, about eight months ago, on one of those foolish sorority dares. (“I’m bored. What’s to do?” “Another tat run?” “Hey, I’ve got an idea, if anyone’s brave enough.”) Just a bunch of drunk, bubble-headed college girls who somehow piled into a car to cruise the seamier side of town, away from the pristine campus, get deliciously scandalized, then return to their clean beds, tucked under the warm covers and their arms hugging stuffed animals. So it began. We ogled the kinky people, the gays in their boots and jackets, the dykes with their spiked hair, the straight men and women dominating or submitting, but then someone suggested it might be fun to go inside. The next thing we knew we all found ourselves in the Leather Heel, a bunch of hyper, clean-cut college girls that stood out amongst all the SM toughs. Everyone in our group wanted to party, party, party, take a walk on the wild side, have a drink, whoop it up. Strange thing though, I thought the leather people might cop an attitude like “Who the hell are these fucking rich bitches?”, but they were all genuinely friendly. Probably because we were something new, fresh, and unspoiled. And probably because they wanted in on the spoils. That weird night went by in a blur, and we all found our way back to the sorority house, drunk off our collective asses and giggling to ourselves about “our crazy night out”. It was never discussed again, but I never forgot the smell of the leather, the gleaming polished whips. The danger. So, a couple of weeks later I found myself sneaking out of the house. Without any conscious thought I drove until I stood beneath the flickering neon sign that often misspelled the club’s name, a different word that seemed more like a promise: Leather Hell.
My first time there by myself, I was like a nervous cat. No beer like that night with my sorority sisters before going out to loosen me up. A few people tried to start up conversations, but I didn’t come across. Then a “scene” started up. Just a woman in leather chaps, her bare butt cheeks getting a light whipping, but that was enough. Next thing I knew I was at the inner edge of the voyeuristic crowd, putting my own tight jeans covered ass out there to see what it felt like. And then the nervous cat was a lioness on the prowl. I kept going back after that, playing with anonymous partners, but mostly with others I had a sort of friendship. And we always stayed in the main room. I never went down to the basement. Down to the heavy play room.
Except for tonight.
I had seen them go down there, the edge players. Even been invited once or twice to join them, but I always shied away. But tonight was different. Usually I was here on Saturday, to stay most of the night and recover Sunday before classes on Monday. But this was Wednesday. It was near the end of the semester and I had decided to cut classes the next day. Hey, what was one day when you already had a pretty good idea what kind of grades you were going to get this late in the school year anyway? So, when I strolled in, for the life of me trying to look confident, there wasn’t a familiar face in the place. I was really on my own.
I found a seat at the bar, ordered some kind of drink. After a while I finally gathered up the courage to ask, “How do I get into the basement?”
“Use the stairs,” the barrel-chested, leather vested bartender answered. He gave me look that plainly said “Don’t ask me any more stupid questions” and went back about his business of watering down drinks.
All right, strike one, but still good advice. Just go down there.
So down I went.
The stairs were creaky and narrow, only enough room for one person. Someone waited at the bottom, a man in a suit and half-hood, his lower face exposed. When I reached the bottom of the stairs he didn’t make any move to allow me inside.
“Your first time down here?” he rumbled.
Suddenly my mouth dried up and I couldn’t talk. I nodded.
He held up a blindfold, just a simple black cloth, more than wide enough to go well up my forehead and down my cheeks. “People down here need anonymity. They don’t want a one-timer blabbing about who they played with if things get too rough.”
I finally regained speech. “Is it that bad?”
“Only as bad as you make it,” he said. “Or as good.”
He held up the cloth. I centered it over my eyes and he tied it off in back, firmly but not sadistically. A hand on my arm and I was passed on to someone inside.
A woman’s hands, I think. Small, but definitely in control. “Look what I found!” she crowed. “Isn’t she just darling?”
Answering calls of agreement. Next thing I knew I was on hands and knees, doggy style, while several pairs of hands undid my jeans, bared my ass, pulled my snug light blue pullover over my head. The pants and top were flung away and the hands kneaded my bra-cupped breasts, dove down my panties, checked out my wet pussy, tested the tightness of my asshole. I bucked a little at the bold invasions, grunted here and there, gave a couple of fast yelps when fingers probed both openings, then cut off when even more searched my mouth.
“Hmmm. Not too bad,” said a male. He was near me, in fact, it was probably his hand in my mouth, forcing the jaw to remain open. “I’ve seen her upstairs. Always wondered when she couldn’t stand it any longer and would come down here.”
“You just want to rape her mouth,” another man said. “For you, any mouth will do.”
“Yes. But this one is especially luscious.” A leather ring gag anchored itself between my upper and lower teeth, expanding my mouth even wider. My jaw strained at the unfamiliar sensation. Yes, I had worn ring gags before, but never one so big, and with such an obvious intent. Then I was up on my knees, the woman’s hands wrapped around my crossed wrists in back. A hot, hot cock shoved itself down my throat.
A large hand on the back of my head prevented any pulling back. A pair of fingers on either side at the base of my ponytail found the center and distributed pressure evenly so that I couldn’t even attempt to turn away. The cock filled me, male musk invaded my nostrils and, with each coarse thrust, balls lightly slapped against my chin. I wanted to cough, hack, retch, but they wouldn’t allow it, and that’s when I knew any freedom of choice had been stolen.
Hot jets of cum flooded my mouth, spilled over my lower lip, dripped on my breasts, stained my bra. Taken away, the ring gag thudded to the floor. My hands were released and I fell forward onto my stomach. Now I did cough, tried to speak. This isn’t what I wanted. Not what I thought…

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