Whispers From The Edge – ebook

$3.99

R.J. has doms for breakfast, lunch and dinner and none can deliver the hard edge style of play that she craves.  Spencer comes closest, but one night even when he says enough and offers to introduce her to a dom who might, finally, be the one to satisfy her, R.J. feels rejected.  Lashing out, R.J. almost tears apart the SM club she frequents.  Banished from the club R.J. meets with a mysterious street peddler and next thing she knows she’s transported to a realm where she is now in a different body, the technology is strange and the slavery is real.  Captured and enslaved R.J. becomes a pawn in a dangerous power game between the High Priestess, the Chief Scribe and various other competing factions.  Now it’s R.J. who must fight to keep up with the demanding slave training and exacting masters and mistresses, all the while trying to maintain her sanity and get home.

Description

Whispers From The Edge by Alexander Kelly

R.J. has doms for breakfast, lunch and dinner and none can deliver the hard edge style of play that she craves.  Spencer comes closest, but one night even when he says enough and offers to introduce her to a dom who might, finally, be the one to satisfy her, R.J. feels rejected.  Lashing out, R.J. almost tears apart the SM club she frequents.  Banished from the club R.J. meets with a mysterious street peddler and next thing she knows she’s transported to a realm where she is now in a different body, the technology is strange and the slavery is real.  Captured and enslaved R.J. becomes a pawn in a dangerous power game between the High Priestess, the Chief Scribe and various other competing factions.  Now it’s R.J. who must fight to keep up with the demanding slave training and exacting masters and mistresses, all the while trying to maintain her sanity and get home.

An SM fantasy tale that includes slave hunting and training, tight leather and rope bondage, strict gags and hoods, intense interrogations, sexual intrigue and a branding. 

Additional information

Artist Credit

Cover Art © Gleb Semenjuk – Shutterstock.com

ISBN

9781937831981

Page Count

105

Publish Date

03/22/2013

Word Count

57997

Excerpt

The door locked.
I spun around, just in time to witness Spencer hang the pewter key under his opened neck, dark shirt. A cold knot formed in my stomach. Never before had the door been locked. It was against the house rules, kind of like a safety valve. If a scene went bad the sub always had the option of ending it. She’d press a panic button on a small, hand held transmitter. A silent safeword. A few seconds later the club bouncer would come barging in to her rescue. But then Spencer also removed the battery from the transmitter he was supposed to give me.
“What’re you doing?” I demanded.
Spencer took down a single-tail whip from the toy wall on his left. He coiled it in his hand, like a snake ready to strike. “Strip.”
“Now hang on-”
The whip lashed out, its end exploding against the wall beside my head. I screamed and ducked.
Next thing I knew, Spencer was on top of me; one hand over my mouth, the other around my throat. He gave a grin that was nothing but evil.
“I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time,” he said.
His hand left my mouth then held up something dark. He pressed a button.
Goddam! A four-inch stiletto flashed within a hairsbreadth of my nose! Its edges gleamed in the light, razor sharp. Spencer laid the flat edge on my cheek, the spiky point just under my eye. Shit!
“About time you were taught you just don’t come in here and demand things from a master,” Spencer says.
The knife descended down the front of my turtleneck. Its point pressed against my belly, then, with a quick wrist action from Spencer, it went through and sliced open my shirt, leaving my skin untouched. Gurgling sounds were all the protests I could make as he ordered me to extend my arms sideways. Feeling like I was being nailed to the cross, the blade made its way down one wrist, then, after Spencer switched hands on my throat, down the other.
Suddenly, he held the weapon up and brought back his arm, the knifepoint aimed at me. He let go of my throat and drove the point right for it.
I screamed and squeezed shut my eyes.
A thud sounded right next to my left ear.
The knife quivered in the wall. I slid down from it, making a small whimpering noise, dully aware that the tattered remains of my turtleneck were ripped away. I crawled for the door, afraid that any moment I would feel the knife in my back. What I felt instead was Spencer’s hands tearing off my bra. My pants soon followed until all I had left was a thin pair of white panties. He reached for those too, but one of my kicking feet caught him on the shoulder and he fell back, cursing under his breath. I made it to the door on my knees, my fists pounding against the padding.
“Let me out! Let me out! Help! This guy’s gone fucking crazy!”
My head was wrenched back. Despite its extreme shortness, Spencer got a good hold of my russet hair and dragged me back. I clawed at his hand, his arm, anything that would force him to let go of me. But my nails were short too. Cut to a practical length, they simply scraped off his iron hand. The door, the one portal for my deliverance, receded from my kicking feet. The room was small, but with Spencer’s sure grip on me, the door might as well have been non-existent.
He drew me up, held me at arm’s length, like a rag doll. “Present your wrists. Present!”
I hid them behind my back. Defiant I was, at least outwardly. I fought to keep my lips from quivering. No way was I going to show him fear.
“You want to challenge me? Fine,” he said.
My right breast exploded in pain. His forehand and backhand would’ve brought me to my knees if he didn’t already control me. Another set of blows on my other breast caused me to tear up.
“Obey me now?” Spencer said. He drew back his hand again, this time poised to slap my face.
I wailed and closed my eyes. No, no, I couldn’t take it! My breasts would give under his punishments, but not my face. If he hit me I wouldn’t be able to turn my head and absorb part of the blow.
My hands shaking, I brought them around in front.
“Good,” Spencer said. His tone was almost soothing.
I knew better. I’d been sent to hell. Yet, there are circles to hell, degrees of suffering. Things could get worse. They did.
Spencer selected from the wall a pair of brown, tooled leather cuffs. The floral design cut and dyed into them belied their hidden strength. Although slim, they’d be able to hold me in bondage no matter what position Spencer choose for me. I remained submissively still as they were fastened on me, using all my will to keep my legs from buckling. I was in his power now, whether I liked it or not. Fear was the one thing I had left, and from that I drew the power to see me through this ordeal. Like the cuffs that now held me, I too would be strong even though my appearance suggested fragility. I’d endure, and come out the other side. But from what I knew of Spencer, he was going to make me pay every step of the way. I still had to make it there.
Also, I still had one weakness. One I couldn’t control.
His hand went between my legs. Even though I still wore my panties, when Spencer held up his hand it glistened in my juices. He grinned, knowing I couldn’t do anything to halt the flow.
“Alright, so I’m wet. Enjoy it, cause that’s all the pleasure I’m gonna give you!” I spit on his boots.
Spencer’s jaw set. He wasn’t used to this, a woman talking back to him. So what? Why should it all go his way? But instead of slapping me or bringing out the knife again, he just got even colder.
“When I’m through with you, you’re going to beg me to finish you off. He paused and grabbed my chin tight in his hand. His voice was low. “And I’m going to do most of it right out in the middle of the club.”
The bravado I’d demonstrated suddenly deserted me, replaced by fragile hope. He was going to take me out of the room? There might be a chance… I tried to keep up my defiant front. “People will know what you’ve done to me in here. I’ll tell them – ”
“Ha! You may try, but they won’t listen. You’ve already seen to that. They all know you’re an edge player. You remember the boy who cried wolf? It’s coming home to you, in spades.”
With practiced ease, Spencer hooked me up to the suspension bar, my arms spread wide. He ratcheted the bar higher and higher, and the tension in my shoulders increased until all I felt was a constant strain down my wrists, through my arms, into my lower back. My toes stretched in vain for the floor. I grunted and strained, hopeful that as long as I kept in contact with it I could relieve some of the pressure. But Spencer didn’t stop raising the bar until I was swinging free. He’d never taken me entirely off the floor before. I always had that little security blanket, that reassurance that this was all just a game. Not now. My insides churned, sweat dripped from my brow. Yet, I still tried maintaining my outward rebelliousness, even though my quavering voice betrayed me.
“Gonna take me now, you bastard? Or…Or can you hold out on creaming your pants while you stripe my back?”
If I irritated Spencer with my little jibe, he didn’t show it. Instead he picked up the single tail, shook it out, then, with all the ease of a veteran dominant, lit into me like a tornado.
I wish I could claim my screams blasted through the walls, raised the roof, brought the bouncer running, but they were just absorbed by the sound proof padding that surrounded me. If any noise did escape it was probably lost in the pounding music outside, mixing in with the beat, bump and grind of other sweat soaked club members. Just another slave screaming her lungs out, they most likely thought, but that’s okay. All the safeguards are in place, right? Safewords, rubber balls in the hand, limits negotiated. Yes, everything is fine. That must be what she wants. She wants to scream. So let her.
So I did. And cursed. And threatened. Then begged, pleaded, whimpered. Down the whole range I went until the only thing left were dull grunts forced out with each lightning strike. I hung limp, my once thrashing legs now dead weights, covered in red welts to match my back. Like little brushfires they ravaged my skin. But as the outer heat subsided my inner one heated up. My crotch burned with need and conversely dripped in a free flowing river of my own juices that, instead of quenching my fire, only pointed out how badly I needed something else.
Spencer didn’t give any relief, although I could feel the bulge in his pants as he pressed up behind me. What I got was his iron hands, now gone soft, as he pressed on my welts. Tiny land mines of pain exploded within me, sending me back into painful bliss. I think I gasped, managed a couple of other inarticulate animal sounds, but that was all. Already my psyche had taken flight, leaving behind my shell of a numbed body.
Some subs describe the feeling as floating among the clouds, others a connection to their dom. For myself, I can only relate what it meant to me – that I’m where I’m supposed to be, a link with something deeper. A feeling that fed my current state, growing stronger until all I needed was to take that last spiritual step and I’d cross over. Yet, each time I reached that jumping off point it slipped away. The more I tried to get it back, the harder it was to hang onto what I had. Like a mist receding from a shore, it disappeared, until all I had left was a bright sun of pain and a bittersweet memory.
“Out there again?” Spencer whispered. “Time for you to come back.”
No, no! Leave me out there, let me “see” these unknown horizons. But his hands brought me back. They rubbed at my shoulders, squeezed my breasts, pinched my sensitive nipples. They eventually found their way down my slick stomach and into my soaked panties. First one, then two, then three fingers slid their way inside me, thrusting up, up, until I was fully bucking to his strong thrusts. His impalement brought me back to reality and I couldn’t stop him.
Spencer did that himself. His knuckles withdrew, leaving me with a hot, empty hole. “Thank god, thank god”, I wanted to say. Or was it, “No, come back, I’m not finished yet”? Spencer lowered the suspension bar until I sprawled on the thick carpet. He released my cuffs but wouldn’t allow me to curl up in a tight, sniffling ball. I found myself on my back, despite my protests about the welts, and he made me look up at him.
“Well, what’s this?” he said. His fingers traced along my tear tracks. “You don’t think that’s going to make me let up, do you?”
“I don’t care what you think,” I said.
He grabbed the top of my head and wrenched me to a sitting position.
“Yes, you will, R.J. What I’m thinking is very important to you. Just as important as what I’m going to do to you now.”
He pushed me down on my stomach, forcing my arms behind me. I tried to resist, tried to keep my wrists apart, but the suspension and whipping had left me as weak as a kitten. My legs beat against Spencer’s back but he ignored them. I was nothing more than human clay in his hands.
He efficiently tied my wrists, then sat me up and anchored my arms. His bright, precious rope cinched my upper body all together in a V-shaped, breast encircling harness. I was a nicely wrapped package for his sport, unable to stop those constantly roaming hands. His lips covered mine. His hot breath filled my mouth.
I broke off from the kiss. Spencer didn’t like that at all. A gleam entered his eye, one I’d never seen before. It translated into his grabbing the front of my rope harness, pulling me to my feet. My legs were so weak I could barely hold my own weight, but Spencer shoved me up against the wall, near where his switchblade still stuck out.
“If you know what’s good for you, don’t move,” he says.
I didn’t. Fear froze me. Already Spencer had done things I didn’t know he was capable of; I didn’t want to push him any further.

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