I write Erotic Romances with BDSM themes and in my Rescue Me series, the stories tend to get a little further along the BDSM spectrum as I go, so for newcomers to the genre, I'd say it might be best to start at the very beginning. To make it even easier for you to do that, I'm giving you a coupon code for a FREE DOWNLOAD of Masters at Arms, the introduction to the series. Use coupon code ME46R at https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/80282--and enjoy!
This book tells about how three men from very different origins come together in a firefight in Iraq and later band together to form a family of sorts. Oh, and they decide to start a BDSM/kink club. The three have varying origins in BDSM, as well.
But this blog hop is supposed to be about erotic romance, and those prequels, while crucial to understanding these three men (and two of them also meet their ladies in that book, as well), I would say the book that would help someone who has never read a BDSM romance would be Nobody's Angel. This is the first actual romance in the series, and tells of Marc D'Alessio (whom you'll meet in Masters at Arms) and his lady love, Angelina Giardano. There are complications with a friend of Marc's, Luke Denton, who thinks Angelina's an "angel" sent to him by his dead wife to help him get back into the game and find happiness again.
Marc's favorite kinks are bondage, floggings, and spankings. But he also enjoys sensation play and pervertibles (household items intended for other uses that can be perverted to be used in sexual/sensual ways).
Here's part of a sensation-play session with Angelina and Marc from Nobody's Angel:
Dear God, she'd become a wanton woman.
No, a wanting woman. And what she wanted more than anything
in the world, even chocolate, was Marc's touch. Where had he gone anyway? What
was he doing? Then she felt him climb back onto the bed and his weight pressed
into the mattress near her right leg. She relaxed her contracted muscles and
smiled. A short-lived reprieve because, rather than feel his hands or mouth on
her body, what felt like cold sharp steel traced lightly over the skin from her
left sole, causing her to squirm at the ticklish, yet prickly, feeling. She
heard a slight squeak, as if it were a wheel of some type, tracing a path from
her ankle to the inside of her knee. Sharp, but not breaking the skin, although
it probably could cut her if he exerted enough pressure.
She sucked in a gasp of air and held still, holding her
breath, not wanting to be cut by whatever he was using. The pinpricks rolled up
the insides of her knees, her thighs. Oh, God, not her pussy! She tried to
close her legs against the invasion, but couldn't move them.
Exposed. Vulnerable. Restrained.
She knew she couldn't stand the bite of that thing against
her clit. Could she? Then the wheel rolled along the uppermost ridge of her
hipbone and onto her abdomen. Her legs reflexively fought the restraints, but
she was unable to defend against his ticklish onslaught. She gripped the headboard
tighter, trying not to break into screams—or giggles. He rolled the damned
thing lower, toward her mons, and she nearly came undone.
Mind over matter. In her mind, she prepared the batter for
an Italian cream cake. After adding the first few ingredients, she was able to
control her response to the ticklish stimuli.
"Very good, cara."
Warmth spread over her, then the wheel marked new territory
again as it traveled upward. The ticklish sensation gave way to a more biting
pressure as the wheel rolled around the edge of her right breast where it met
her chest wall. Every hair on her body stood on end.
A finger from his other hand brushed the inside of her knee
and moved upward, bypassing her pussy, as well. She moaned in frustration. His
fingertip skimmed lightly over her hip, across her abdomen, unerringly along
the same path the steel object had traced seconds ago, as if following a
pattern across her skin. Was the instrument marking a path on her skin in some
way?
The pinpricks skittered across the underside of her left
breast, then traveled over the space between her girls and onto the top of her
right one, circling around the base of the breast and back to the other one. He
was making repeated figure eights. Her nipples tightened, aching and waiting.
Please! Touch me
there!
Then his fingertip traced the same figure eight around her
breasts before replaced by the metal instrument again. This time, it came
oh-so-close to pricking the skin of one areola. Thankfully, the area wasn't as
sensitive as other parts of her breast. Then the pricking spiraled closer and
closer to one sensitive peak and she felt the bud rise up to meet the steel
instrument, without even being touched directly. What was that about?
The steel was replaced by his warm mouth as Marc flicked his
tongue over first one nipple, then the other. He blew air onto her nipple and
it stiffened as the cool air kissed her wet bud. Angelina felt his soft lips
almost reverently pull her nipple into his hot mouth again, just before
pinpricks of steel rolled over her other nipple, harder.
Angelina's lungs burned from the lack of oxygen, but she was
afraid to breathe for fear of being cut. How could he do two things at once?
The difference in the sensations between his soft, warm mouth on one nipple and
the sharp, cold steel on the other caused her clit to spasm. Her hips strained
upward, even though she cringed mentally at the thought of his using that sharp
instrument on her clit. She wouldn't be able to stand pain like that.
Would she?
Angelina knew she had her safeword. Of course, she could let
go of the bed at any time and remove the object before it reached her clit. She
hadn't agreed to cutting and no way could that touch her clit without cutting.
But he hadn't broken her skin. Yet. She would wait and see what happened next
before bailing out.
A niggling doubt plagued her. If she used her safeword,
would he honor it? Should she test him? No. He said he'd end the scene
immediately and, at the moment, the delicious sensations rampaging through her
body made it clear she had no desire to end this anytime soon.
She was pulled out of her thoughts when the sharp instrument
rolled over her nipple again. Surprised, she gasped, and her chest arched
upward suddenly—toward the pain, rather than away—causing the sharp object to
press deeply into her sensitive peak.
"Ow!" She cried out against the unexpected pain,
then the torture device was gone, replaced with Marc's gentle hand on her
breast and his warm tongue laving and flicking at her aching nipple until the pain
receded.
Pain.
Pleasure.
She moaned and his mouth left her.
"I'm sorry, gattina.
That was not intentional."
She whimpered; her self-control gone. How did he turn pain
into pleasure so quickly? His words registered that the pain had been
accidental. He'd even apologized for the relatively tiny hurt. Allen had
inflicted so much more pain and told her it had just been a misunderstanding on
her part.
"Stay with me, pet."
His mouth sucked her tender nipple, but her pussy clenched
in response, aching to be filled. She couldn't speak her wishes, but moaned as
she tilted her pelvis upward, hoping he would take the hint. He released her
nipple and cold air caused her well-loved peak to swell even further.
For a moment, he didn't touch her anywhere. She waited. What
next? Her body missed the sensations of his hand, mouth, and even that painful
metal device.
At last, he was touching her pussy, spreading her folds
open, and exposing her erect clit to the cool air. Yes, touch me there! His finger stroked directly against the
sensitive nubbin, spreading something cold on her. He took his hand away. That
was all? Why didn't he stroke her more? Help her to come? She knew she could
reach an orgasm now and wanted more, damn it.
Suddenly, a strange warmth spread through her clit. It grew
warmer and warmer, almost to the point of being uncomfortable. What had he just
put on her clit? The sensation made her want to beg him to touch her again. Oh,
God! She was on fire!
Then cold! What felt like wet ice brushed over her mouth, sending
a trickle of water down her cheek and around her ear. Yes, definitely ice. And
she smelled mint, which didn't make sense. Marc pressed the melting cube over
her chin, gliding it slowly down her throat leaving a trail of cold as the
runoff trailed to the back of her neck. He moved the cube at a glacier's pace.
Would he ever reach his destination, wherever that was? Then the ice came to
rest at the base of her neck, above her collarbone, where he left it to lie and
melt, trickling cold water around her neck and to her back.
Her clit was on fire. Her upper body was freezing. The mixed
signals short-circuited her brain. She shivered, but whether from the cold or
her burning clit, she didn't know.
His warm lips brushed over her cold ones causing hers to tingle
and warm quickly, then he trailed kisses over her chin, down her throat,
stopping to press a kiss against her pulse, and continuing on until he came to
the pool of melted ice at the base of her throat. His tongue lapped at the
water in the hollow and then the ice was gone.
His lips, colder now as they moved down her body, avoiding
her breasts, which confused her. As he reached her abdomen, his legs straddled
her again. She could tell he hadn't removed his pants yet. Then all thought
fled as his unusually cold lips brushed over her mons, closer and closer to her
fiery clit.
No! Just as the thought occurred to her that fire and ice
don't mix, his frigid tongue licked the hood above her clit.
Her hips bucked up on the mattress, then she tried to get
away from his mouth, but movement was impossible. "Ohhh! Ohh, God, no!!!"
No escape. The disparate temperatures, the sensations, the restraint were all
too much, nearly sending her mind over the edge.
She realized she'd spoken, well, screamed was more accuate.
But he hadn't reprimanded her. She wouldn't have been able to restrain herself
if she'd tried, though. Maybe he made allowances for cries of passion.
Avoiding the most sensitive part of her clit, his tongue
slid down to her pussy and he pressed it inside her warm vagina, leaving his
tongue there without moving. As the coldness of his tongue disappeared, he
moved his tongue, flicking on a path back toward her clit. This time, when he
laved the area around the hood, his tongue was warmer, but still cooler than
her clit because of whatever he had put on her to make it burn.
Unable to remain still, she pressed her pussy toward his
tongue. More. Oh, God, she needed more. He gently nipped her clit. "Ahhh!"
The pit of her stomach tensed as the sensation coursed through her, sending
ever closer to the elusive edge again. How much more could she take before he
brought her the release she needed?
Please, Marc! I need
you!
When she thought she could almost come without further
stimulation, his mouth was gone and his weight shifted. She groaned as if in
pain, then tensed, waiting to see what Marc would do next. She didn't have to
wait long. His finger rubbed something cold onto her clit again. Seconds later,
it began to warm. Only this time, he removed his finger, then returned to
spread even more of the first-cold-then-hot substance between the outer lips
and moving toward the opening of her pussy. Oh, no! Surely he wouldn't put that
on her va…
The smell of mint reached her sensitive nose. What on earth
was he using? She remembered he'd gone into the front part of the house, but
there wasn't anything with mint there. The bathroom. Toothpaste? Who would
think of putting toothpaste there?!?
Marc, apparently.
Slowly, heat spread like wildfire from her clit to her
vagina. No longer capable of coherent thought, her head thrashed against the
pillow. She was out of her mind with want. Why didn't he at least put his
finger inside her? But she knew she wanted more than a finger. She wanted him.
Inside her. Now!
"Please don't make me wait any longer, Marc! I want you
inside me."
Angelina froze. Oh, God. Had she spoken aloud? What would he
do now? Tears of frustration filled her eyes. She wished she could see him.
Judge his reaction.
Marc left the bed. "Pet, not only did you disobey by speaking,
but you also neglected to respect me by calling me Sir. I will give you two
choices for your punishment."
Her heart pounded against her chest as she waited for him to
tell her what those choices were. What could he possibly do to her that wouldn't
involve pain? But he'd promised not to hurt her. If she obeyed him. She hadn't. As she waited, her mind tried to
imagine other punishments. Did Doms use timeouts like she'd had in
kindergarten? Spankings, certainly.
Whatever he had put on her clit, continued to burn, making
her want Marc's touch more than she'd ever wanted anything. Her hips bucked
upward as if with a will of their own. How much longer would he make her wait?
"Your first choice is for me to stop now, untie your
legs, and let you go to sleep while I go back to sleep on the sofa."
More tears sprang to her eyes. How could he leave her
wanting like this? Didn't good Doms always make sure their subs' needs were
met? Well, she needed to come, damn it!
"Your second choice will give you the mind-blowing
orgasm you crave—"
Yes, that one!
"—but you must submit to an over-the-knee spanking.
Bare ass. Five swats."
Oh, God! No way!
