Silence in the Cellar – ebook



Silence In The Cellar by Lizbeth Dusseau

“In summer, Bella’s inn by the lake vibrates with the carnality of a whorehouse in any season.”

BDSM Romance. The young widow, Bella Faure, wants only to run her beloved Inn by the Lake and enjoy the men she entertains on the side. Her favorite lover, Daniel, listens to her carnal tales and takes notes for an erotic novel of her stories. But there’s a dark side to Bella’s life and a reckless past. Blackmailed by her husband’s brother, Claude, she plummets into his world, forced to satisfy his sexual revenge. Though she despises the man, she is driven by a body that enjoys the extremes of lust. Claude tortures her in cellars, attics and ancient boathouses, with whips and bondage and the exhilaration of pain. Her sex life overwhelms the imagination.

Silence in the Cellar is a novel brimming with tender sensuality, and yet it blooms from the darkness of S&M, Dominance/submission, female bisexuality, graphic anal sex, spanking, multiple partners and exhibitionism.

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Cover Art stryjek –

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“I want you naked, Bella,” his voice is a gravely purr, as if he is content.

Wearing just the sundress, she can comply with the request easily and stand before him as he desires, clothed only in the long dark tresses, which make her look like a modern day Lady Godiva. Would that she had a stallion beneath her now, she’d ride out on the wind into another life.

“Face forward on the ladder, we’ll try that first,” he motions her to the bondage rack, as they both feel the sure swell of their mutual desire beat with the same steadily rising cadence as each minute ticks by. “Who is the man in the boathouse?” he asks, while she leans lovingly into the rungs of the ladder.

“He is of no concern to you.” She drapes herself sensuously as though falling into a lover’s chest. The ladder is much too hard to derive any comfort; but it is nonetheless something stable to count on when the torture of her trial becomes excruciating.

“We shall see, perhaps he’d like to watch.”

Claude wraps the ropes around her wrists tight enough to secure them, and then fixes the loose ends through rungs above, stretching her arms up high. The whole of her curvaceous form is a reasonable counterpoint to the harsh lines of the wood that support her. Her hair descends in a soft cascade down her back, covering too much. Grabbing the whole of it in his hand, he tugs it hard. She shrieks, as though being hit with a shower of cold rain. Twisting it into a bun, he threads one of her hair-sticks through the mass of it to keep it in place and out of his way. Without the hair to spoil the view he can admire how her taut brown skin shimmers, how it appears a dusty beige under the glaring light from the window. Every muscle in her quakes in expectation.


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