A Taste of Submission: Discipline Me
- 7 months ago
- 2 min read
- 630 Aufrufe
About the Book...
Her best friend; her husband; her master: her everything. Sounds like a wickedly kinky fairy-tale, right? It was until the pieces just stopped fitting like they used to, once upon a time.
In the second addition to the series, Laila's Taste of Submission follows a young couple's exploration into the world of domestic discipline. When Laila feels a lack of care and attention from her husband, Jay, she turns to his dominant side, as her master, to repair the cracks in their relationship and ultimately, to restore the trust in her submission to him.
Will Jay give Laila the firm taste of discipline that she so desperately craves? Can he use the explosive power of their Dom/ Sub dynamic to strengthen their bond as husband and wife? Or have the boundaries been blurred beyond repair – has Laila lost her faith in him?
A Steamy Excerpt:
The question still remained heavy on my mind – should I feel oppressed? I brought my foot to the surface of the water, through the bubbles, wiggling my polished pink toes. I didn’t feel oppressed but I did feel fucking frustrated. It wasn’t fair that I had made Jay cum last night and yet he didn’t give me an ounce this morning. I plunged my hand down to my thighs, the movement of the water making the heat all the more apparent as it enveloped and caressed my aching body. Stroking a single finger over my needy, aching clit, I slid down further until I found my slick opening. Cheeks hot and flushed, my forehead clammy from the steam, I closed my eyes and sank a little deeper into the comforting hold of the bath.
Don’t do it, Laila. You asked for discipline; you disobeyed. Don’t blame Jay – he loves you.
Tormented between the need of my heart to submit and the need of my body to climax, I pushed and pulled my fingers to and from my lustful cunt. I reached over to the ledge and pushed the shampoo bottle to the left, pulling my pink glass dildo closer, before sinking it under the concealment of the bubbles. The glass was still cool as the bulbous end found my moist opening. I rubbed and toyed in gentle circles that mirrored my guilty, cyclical thoughts – yes, no; yes no. Electric jolts of carnality surged through my veins as I ran the smooth glass beads from clit to slit, with increasing ferocity. Long, shallow breaths escaped my lips with each upward motion, bouncing off the slate-grey tiles and back into my ears: my own soundtrack of deception...
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