Hi everyone — It’s my delight to welcome Sindra van Yssel to the blog. Sindra’s wonderful stories of bondage and discipline soar to the top of bestseller lists. Make sure you leave a comment because you don’t want to miss a chance to win one of Sindra’s books. Here she is —When Tara asked me if I’d like to do a guest post on her blog, I was happy to say yes. Now that I’m starting to write, I’m a little daunted. I’m pretty much a writer of heterosexual romances, with dominant men, submissive women, and lots of bondage. I write what I know about, and what I love — although I’ll read just about anything.
Anyway, today I’d like to talk about pegging. I’m not sure how one leads up that, so I thought I’d just come straight out with it. Pegging, for those who haven’t run across the term, is strap-on sex, basically. It’s probably not something you expect to find when you pick up a BDSM romance with a hot alpha guy in it, but there’s something that draws me to it. I think partly it’s the genderfuck aspect of it, and there’s also the role reversal. There’s something in our makeup that regards penetrating as being a bit dominant, and being penetrated a bit submissive, but of course it doesn’t have to be that way.
I’ve written pegging scenes for several of my books — in Pushing Limits, where it’s done by a secondary character to another secondary character, as part of a “switch” relationship; in Secretary for Two, where it’s done submissively; and in the upcoming (around December, I think) Dom & Domme, where it’s done by a dominant woman to a usually dominant man. I am working my way towards another one in my current work in progress. In each case, it’s a statement about how the relationship between the characters doesn’t have to follow the “rules” — any rules, except their own.That, to my mind, is the sexiest thing I can possibly write about — people, deciding for themselves and as couples or threesomes how their sexuality works, and to hell with what other people think as long as it’s safe and good for everyone in the relationship. Relationships in romances used to follow a pretty narrow path, really, but not anymore. We have ménages, gay romances, femdom romances — you name it, it exists somewhere out there. In fact, we have a sort of critical mass, where there are enough of these romances that they can be marketed as such and find the right audience. I think the readership of romances has broadened too, partially as a result. Certainly more guys are reading “our” books, nowadays, although the word “romance” still indicates that the book is written and marketed primarily for women, and probably always will. What’s changed is the perception of what women are interested in, and fortunately for me, that includes pegging.
Here’s an excerpt from Secretary for Two — not the pegging scene, I’m afraid, or one of the ménage scenes, all of which would spoil the book a bit. In this scene, Tony Summers thinks that Nicole thinks he’s his brother Austin, her boss, but Nicole knows better. Having knowledge doesn’t mean she’s in control, however.
She glanced over at him as she folded her panties. She hadn’t dared look before for fear she’d blush. To her surprise, he hadn’t even taken his jacket off. She was looking forward to seeing the muscles hinted at but not revealed by his clothes. “It scarcely seems fair you’re fully clothed.”
“We aren’t doing fair here, Nicole. We’re here for your fantasies and for mine. Neither of which involve fairness exactly, now do they?”
“What do you know about my fantasies?” Nicole retorted.
He took a step closer to her. Even in heels, she had to look up to see him. “I can tell by how you act in the office. If I wasn’t sure, there is the matter of how you’ve acted this evening. Some women would be filing a harassment suit—and quite frankly, they’d be justified. A few would obey orders in the most minimal way, showing cleavage perhaps, flashing their boss a smile. A very few would find a dress that revealed as much as possible. You’re a sexual submissive, Nicole. I can see it in your eyes. You want a partner who is dominant, at least in the bedroom and possibly outside it some as well.”
Nicole frowned. She’d had some kinky fantasies, and she liked following directions, fair enough. She enjoyed reading books with really strong alpha males. She’d dreamed of submitting, but only to someone she knew and trusted. But he’d called her a submissive—did that mean he thought she just rolled over for anyone she met? “I don’t need that. I’m an independent woman. I—”
He walked forward and put a finger on her lips. “You can take care of yourself, you were going to say? I wouldn’t be interested in a woman who couldn’t. You’re one of the most capable women I’ve ever met, and you’d be fine without a man at all. And yet there’d be something missing.”
“Has something been missing for you, Sir?” For a moment she’d forgotten he wasn’t Austin. She wanted to ask Austin that question. So she was surprised as she saw a cloud pass over his face.
He turned away without answering. “Come.” He walked briskly across the plush carpet toward the sofa.
After a moment, she followed, then stood behind him as he pulled out an elegant box stored underneath the sofa. It was black, about two and half feet wide with gold hinges and clasp, and engraved on its ebony top was an oriental dragon design. It was locked. Mr. Summers crouched next to it and stuck a key in it, and for a moment she glimpsed chrome and black leather. He turned the box around so the lid blocked her view, picked up something from inside it, and crumpled it up in his big left fist.
It was all Nicole could do to stand her ground, even if she knew his fist was bunched up because he was hiding something. This wasn’t Austin she was dealing with, but was that Austin Summers’s box? It was in his house, and the key was on his key ring.
“You look frightened, Nicole.”
She pursed her lips. Had she offended him? “N-no.”
“Don’t lie, little one. It’s okay to be scared. What are you scared of?”
“I don’t know.”
“You can trust me. Do you remember your safe word?”
She nodded. “Night—it’s the word nightingale.”
“Good girl. And if you say it, what will I do?”
“Let me go and send me home.”
“Do you need to say it now?”
“No, Sir.” And she didn’t. She took a deep breath. “What do you have in your hand?”
His right hand caressed her shoulder as he half circled behind her. “A blindfold. Close your eyes.”
“Why a blindfold?” Nicole resisted the urge to turn and look at him.
“Because I want to immerse you in your sensations. What we see or hear, we’re in the habit of making judgments about. What we feel and taste and smell, we let ourselves simply react to.” His hand glided past her shoulder, over her right breast. She felt its peak stiffen against his palm as he cupped her. A simple reaction, as he said.
“Yes, Sir.” She closed her eyes.
The blindfold shut out the light she could sense through her eyelids. She felt the band tighten around the back of her head as he secured it in place. Total blackness. His fingers found her taut nipple and played with it. His fingertips were rough, but his touch was gentle. She inhaled, drawing her breast away from his fingers, smelling the muskiness of him. Her pussy tingled at the scent, and she knew if he probed there, he’d find her slick and ready.
“Stay there.” Suddenly the hand withdrew, and she was left waiting, aching for his touch. In a few seconds, a soft, romantic jazz melody filled the air. A second later and she felt his arm go around her waist. “No more words from you. Just feel.”
She opened her mouth to say yes and caught herself. Instead she nodded. His hand settled on her bottom, and he pushed her forward gently but insistently. His chest leaning against her back, combined with the pull of his arm around her waist, made her bend over. Her knee made contact with something giving and leather, and then she was flying, lifted in strong arms.
When he set her down, there was smooth leather under her knees. Her breasts pushed against leather stuffed for softness. Her arms dangled over the edge of what had to be the couch. She tried to reach the wall to assert some kind of control, but the couch was too far away from it. She knew her ass was jutting up toward him, an easy target for buggery or a spanking. She wouldn’t put either past this man.
Apparently satisfied with where she was, he unwrapped his hands from her. But a moment later, he had grabbed hold of her legs just above the knee and pulled them apart. She gave momentary resistance, but his hands were strong. If she wanted to have control, she could say the word. She didn’t. She let him part her legs, knowing her pussy was on display. Perhaps he could see how wet she was.
Ohhh. His fingers slid right into her pussy. They were thick and came in at an entirely different angle than she could ever manage with her own fingers. She grabbed for the back of the sofa, and when the back proved to be too smooth to provide easy purchase, she reached up and held the padding-filled top of it. Even if it was virtually impossible to fall over in the position she was in, she still needed something to give her the illusion of balance. She nearly jumped out of her skin when a rough fingertip slid over her clit.
He chuckled. “It’s been a long time for you, hasn’t it?”
She nodded, not sure he could see the muted gesture but too embarrassed to nod vigorously. And he’d told her she couldn’t use words. It had been months, and sex had never felt that good before. His fingers found nerves she’d forgotten existed, and she soon found herself rocking her hips in rhythm as he stroked them in and out of her.
It couldn’t be much fun for him to have only his hands touching her, she thought. Now, if it was his cock, that was another thing. Men were simple creatures; all they needed was their cock in something soft and giving and they were happy. “Fuck me; fuck me.”
The fingers withdrew quickly. She wasn’t ready for the stinging slap landing on her left butt cheek. “What?” She tried to twist out of the way, but an immovable arm gripped her around the waist and held her still while landing another slap on the right.
“I give the orders here. And you were told not to speak.”
Her mouth rounded to an O, but she managed not to vocalize. She clamped her lips shut. “Hmm.” She wanted his fingers back inside her. She wanted to tell him she hated the spanking. She tried again to twist out of his grasp but got nowhere.
He held her and waited.
Nightingale. That’s all I have to say. But his arm holding her seemed incredibly firm and stable. If she said the word, he’d let her go because he would choose to, not because she could ever get out of his grasp on her own. If she didn’t, he’d proceed with whatever he had in mind because she chose to submit. Which one involved more surrender of power wasn’t clear at all. But she knew she liked his arm around her, holding her in place. She liked the strength of it, the feeling that it would never let her down, and she’d rather depend on that arm than on the strength of a word.
She turned her head away and laid it against the soft top edge of the sofa, relaxing her body. Her ass was still up in the air, and her stinging cheeks reminded her of that fact. Her pussy was still open to him. She purred in relief as she felt his fingers enter her again.
His hand was magic; it seemed he had no trouble finding the right nerves and the right timing. Warm tingles shot all through her core. Her breasts rubbed against the leather of the couch, and she arched her back to feel the hard points of her nipples make contact. Just a little more. Just one more touch. She squirmed back to try to brush her clit across a knuckle, wanting to push herself over.
The grip around her waist tightened, and the weight of his body pressed her up against him, immobile. “Oh no you don’t. You come when I choose.”
She moaned. Not fair. Oh please. She knew more squirming wouldn’t do any good, but it was almost impossible to stay still with such an ache between her thighs. She shifted her legs, but the motion brought no relief. After a few seconds, his fingers moved again, making the problem worse.
I can’t stand it. Please let me come.
She felt his breath tickling her back before he spoke. “Come now, my little secretary.” Three of his fingers curled inside her, his pinky swirled around her clit, and she screamed as her release rocked through her body. It seemed to go on forever. He didn’t stop fucking her with his fingers until he had extracted every last tremor her body was capable of.
Thanks Tara, for letting me post in your blog. My books, including Secretary for Two, are available from the publishers, at Fictionwise, where Secretary for Two is currently the #1 selling book in BDSM erotica, at Amazon, and other online sellers. My latest, The Barbarian and the Witch, is available only at Loose Id. My website is www.sindravanyssel.com.
A random commenter will receive a copy of Purple Passion.
YUM! Comment now. Thank you, Sindra. And thanks everyone for visiting the blog. : )