The Non-Six Sunday: Master Adam binds Karla

Six Sentence Sunday is on a break today, so this chica is going to go wild and give you a mega-excerpt from Nobody's Angel. I've been working on Master Adam and Karla's romance (Nobody's Hero--due out in December). You can keep up with my daily progress with the meter at the upper-righthand side of my blog. I'd say Adam and Karla are the favorites of 90 percent of my readers, so, when I asked which scene to post here today, a Facebook reader asked me to share this one.

You've read the beginning of this scene in a couple of my recent Six Sentence Sunday blogs, but now you'll get to read the rest of it. This was the first time I'd written a BDSM scene for Adam and Karla (separately or together), so it was very revealing for the author, as well. My characters don't reveal much to me until I place them in a scene. Then, watch out! (Oh, Karla's not singing in this scene, but she IS wearing this top. Yesterday, while working on Nobody's Hero, Adam commented to her that he likes her in red. Needless to say, she's heading to Denver's "hootchie shops" on Broadway soon to do some shopping!)

"Thank you, Sir." Adam heard the catch in her voice.

Aw, hell. She sounded as if she'd been crying. Feeling like a heel, Adam slung the rope over his shoulder and walked around to stand in front of her. This most likely was Karla's first time in bondage of any kind and he wasn't even treating her with the respect he'd show a favorite dog. Time to put his wants and needs on a back burner and focus on the wannabe sub standing before him.

He placed his finger under her chin, and tilted her head up to meet his gaze, but she kept her eyes averted. He cupped her cheeks and used his thumb pads to wipe away the tears. She must have found waterproof mascara, because there was no trail this time, as there had been so many times before when she'd cried. He grinned.

"Look at me, Karla."

She blinked several times and raised her gaze.

"I apologize for speaking so harshly. This is your first time, isn't it?"

Karla blinked again and her eyes opened wider. After a moment, as if understanding finally dawned, she nodded.

"Thank you for allowing me to be your first. I'll do better binding your arms than I did your hair. I promise."

When she smiled, the vise that had constricted his heart for nearly a decade began to loosen a bit. His groin only grew tighter, but he had enough control over his body not to let his dick rule his other head.

He knew he was supposed to be demonstrating for the others, but his focus shifted to Karla. Only Karla. Her big blue eyes looked at him with so much trust.

"As I'm tying, don't let me pull further than your comfort level. If it hurts or is too tight, just say 'yellow" and I'll back up a bit. You understand that pain isn't the goal here?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good girl." Her smile quavered and he tried to keep his attention away from her lips. He stroked her bare arms in long, gentle strokes. "I want you to relax. Take a slow, deep breath and release all the tension from your body."

Adam watched her breasts rise as she followed his instructions, visibly relaxing her shoulders and arms. He took a slow deep breath of his own.

"The technique I'm going to use is called Teppou. It means gun because, when I'm finished, the shape of the tie and the placement of your hands will look like a gun slung diagonally across your back. Now, are you ready?"

"Yes, Sir. Thank you."

Her appreciation before he'd even started warmed some cold place inside him. "Good. I want you to embrace the rope. Find release through restraint. I think you'll understand more as we go along. Give me your right wrist."

She presented her arm to him, a most precious gift, and he accepted it, taking her delicate wrist in his hand. Her skin was cool and he wrapped his hand around her tiny wrist a moment to infuse his warmth into her.

Taking the rope from his shoulder, he released her wrist and made a single-column tie, secure but not tight. He stepped behind her and lifted her arm until it was at a forty-five degree angle, her fingertips pointing toward the corner of the ceiling. He supported her outstretched upper arm just below her elbow, took the loose end of the rope, and pulled, gently drawing her wrist backward and down as if she were reaching behind her to draw a bow from a quiver. The gracefulness of the movement and the trust she placed in him touched him beyond words.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded.

Adam pulled her elbow out, away from her face, and bound her wrist to her upper arm. Her flesh trembled—or was it his own fingers? Once he had secured the tie there, he took her left hand and gently twisted it behind her back, extending it upward until it was directly below her other hand, separated by about six inches, with her palm facing outward.

"Are you in any pain or discomfort?"

"No, Sir."

"If you become uncomfortable, what do you say?"

"Yellow, Sir."

"Good girl."

Adam pulled the end of the rope from her upper arm and wrapped it around her forearm and then around her upper arm. He adjusted the rope, pulling tighter as he repositioned her upper elbow to keep the line of the "gun" right, and made several more loops around the right arm and elbow.

She had an incredibly flexible body, probably because she was still so young. She would make an excellent demonstration partner at the club.

Fuck. Like that was going to happen.

He brought the rope back down to her lower arm, weaving it through the pattern numerous times and making quick work of the remaining loops. The sooner he finished, the better. He secured the end and his hand caressed the ropes and her hands. "Beautiful, pet."

Realizing how he'd addressed her, he was shocked out of the scene. He circled around to stand in front of her. Her breasts were pushed out even more from the position of her arms, nipples hard, pressing against the bra cups of the low-cut top. If he'd thought this position would be less intimate, he'd been sorely mistaken.

"You did well, hon." He cupped her cheek and she leaned into him, closing her eyes and causing his dick to throb.

Angelina whispered, "If I smoked, I'd want a cigarette right now. That was incredibly…hot."

Adam turned in time to see Marc swat her backside and whisper, "Quiet, cara. Don't intrude on their scene."

Adam cleared his throat. "It wasn't a scene, just a demonstration." He saw the hurt in Karla's face, but needed to put some distance between them again. Stepping away, he said, "Marc, take a picture for Karla to see later."

Because I don't plan on having another demonstration with her anytime soon.

The 115,000-word novel, second in the Rescue Me series, Nobody's Angel is available for $2.99 NOW at
Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Smashwords,
BookStrand, and All Romance eBooks.

 

MASTERS AT ARMS (only 99 cents!), the

introduction and first novel in the RESCUE ME series,

is available at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, 

All Romance eBooks, Bookstrand,

and at Smashwords. 

Kally loves to add new friends 

on Facebook and Goodreads. 
Or follow her on Twitter.

 

Six Sunday: Master Marc Tells About Going OFP

This is an excerpt from my recent release, Nobody's Angel, where Master Adam has finally gotten Master Marc where he wants him and is trying to get some answers from the emotionally blocked Master Marc.

The Grant mentioned is a fellow Marine and now Mistress Grant, a Domme at the Masters at Arms Club. (Her book will be Nobody's Home, number six in the Rescue Me series, and due out by September/October of next year. That'll be my first FemDom book--and her alpha malesub is going to be the perfect match for her. They served together in a Black Ops organization of some type for several years after Grant's and his regular stints in the service ended.)

In this scene, Master Adam is reading Master Marc the riot act for lying to Angelina (a no-no for good Doms). Adam's also grilling Marc on why he's been so messed up lately and Marc's unloading all kinds of things, including a time in his past when he went OFP with a woman in a BDSM scene. (OFP is a Marine term meaning Own Fucking Plan, where you don't follow the set plan or mission but do what you want. In this context, it's the result of not renegotiating a scene, even though he hadn't been with the woman for a couple of years. He's remembering the scene in Masters at Arms where the gold digger Melissa shows up on his doormat and the resulting orgasm torture scene I shared in this blog a couple months ago.)

We're in Marc's point-of-view, but Adam is speaking first.

 

"Doesn't sound as harsh as the punishment I'd have given her for that stunt at Gino's funeral, but I find most subs aren't traumatized by a good paddling or a little orgasm torture—once it's over anyway."

Marc remembered a demonstration in the club's medical room where Adam and Grant had shown the technique to a younger Dom who wanted to try orgasm torture on his sub. Grant, who had served with Marc's Marine recon unit, wouldn't bottom for anyone but her former top sergeant, Adam. But if she hadn't been restrained so securely on that table, Adam could have kissed goodbye the ability to ever obtain an erection again, because she'd have delivered a well-placed kick to his cock and balls—somewhere after about the fifth orgasm in ten or fifteen minutes.

He realized Adam was waiting for him to continue. "I went OFP that night." 

Each week, the new listing of Six Sentence Sunday (SSS) blogs goes live at about 9 a.m. EDT Sunday. This is a great way to find new authors to follow or read! For a list of this week's participants in the SSS blog tour, go to http://www.sixsunday.com/. Search #sixsunday on Twitter, as well!

The 115,000-word novel, second in the Rescue Me series, Nobody's Angel is available for $2.99 NOW at
Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Smashwords, BookStrand, and All Romance eBooks.

 

MASTERS AT ARMS (only 99 cents!), the

introduction and first novel in the RESCUE ME series, 

is available at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, 

All Romance eBooks, Bookstrand,

and at Smashwords. 

Kally loves to add new friends 

on Facebook and Goodreads. 
Or follow her on Twitter.

 

Opening Pages of NOBODY'S ANGEL (release Sept. 30)

I'm working hard to finish the latest edit of NOBODY'S ANGEL before sending it to my editor and beta readers for one more look before it's release date of Sept. 30. But I wanted to share with you the opening of the book, just to give you a chance to revisit the Masters at Arms club you read about in MASTERS AT ARMS, the introduction to the RESCUE ME series. 

If you haven't read MASTERS AT ARMS yet, you'll enjoy NOBODY'S ANGEL much better if you do, although each book will be written as a stand-alone novel, as well). You can purchase MASTERS for the Kindle at Amazon, (also at Amazon-UK and Amazon-Germany--or at Smashwords); for the Nook at Barnes & Noble (or at Smashwords), and for all formats at Smashwords. 

Keep in mind, the excerpt below may not be absolute the final version, as I go through final edits in the weeks to come. But it sure is close! 

And, if you want to read MASTERS first, DO NOT CONTINUE. There be SPOILERS (and dragons)!

NOBODY'S ANGEL

copyright by Kallypso Masters 

Chapter One

Marc D’Alessio ignored the familiar hitch in his breath caused when he overstretched the adhesions in his side as he donned the black leather vest over his bare chest. He checked to make sure the vest pockets included the safety and first-aid items he may need while on duty tonight and pulled his yellow armband over his right bicep, identifying him as the club’s Dungeon Monitor Supervisor.

Lastly, he donned the wolf mask to maintain some anonymity. What Italian men don’t do for their mamas… No one he knew from his earlier life in Aspen had ever shown up at the club, but he had promised Mama he wouldn’t be blatant about his lifestyle. Shit, just having her find out about his interest in the BDSM lifestyle had been bad enough. If his little brother Sandro had just kept his mouth shut….

He wished he’d chosen a different mask. The damned wolf one just brought him attention from the unattached subs he really didn’t want these days.

Marc stepped out of the dressing area and walked down the short hallway to where the great room at the Masters at Arms club opened before him. The club was hopping tonight, so he knew he’d have to stay alert. He also was about an hour late and needed to find co-owner Adam Montague to get the lowdown. He scanned the room looking for the retired Marine top sergeant.

Fellow Iraq War veteran Damián Orlando, the youngest of the three club owners, wore his trademark black-and-orange Harley leather vest and had a petite blonde chained to the center post where he delivered evenly placed lashes with his single-tailed whip. The center of the room had been roped off to keep onlookers out of the range of the whip. Both subs and Doms watched the demonstration with rapt attention.

Marc recognized the bottom as one of Damián’s regulars, the expression on her face one of pure ecstasy, despite the red welts he could see on her back, ass, and thighs. He didn’t get off on delivering that level of pain, but his friend sure was popular with the masochistic bottoms who did. 

 The tattoo on Damián’s flexing bicep showed the rippling tail of a dragon. The rest of the tat was hidden by his vest, but Marc knew it covered a good portion of his chest and back. He’d gone with him for some of the sessions at the tat parlor. With his shoulder-length hair pulled into a queue, and his goatee and moustache, Damián had the look of a real badass. 

Marc couldn’t help but remember the shy kid Damián had been when they’d met at Camp Pendleton. Or that trip to the L.A. fetish club the week before they’d deployed to Fallujah. Man, if he didn’t know it for a certainty, he wouldn’t believe this was the same man. The kid sure had come home from Iraq messed up. Marc and Adam had almost lost him during the kid’s deepest depression.

Apparently, with BDSM he’d found a way to regain some level of control over his life again, even if it did mean he’d chosen to delve deeply into the sensual sadist range of the lifestyle’s spectrum.

The two of them had gone through some serious shit together in Iraq. Damián had come out the worse for it. Marc wished he’d been able to do more to save his foot, but he was just thankful that, as his Navy Corpsman, he’d been able to keep him alive. His buddy’s limp was hardly noticeable now and he seemed to be getting his life back on track. Or on track as well as any of the three co-owners had been able to.

Marc loved Damián like a brother and realized he’d become closer to the kid since they trained together in the Marine Corps than he was to Sandro.

Continuing to look for Adam, the scent of sweat and sex filled the air as he glanced over at the stage where Karla Paxton prepared for tonight’s set. She flinched every time Damián’s whip struck the woman’s bare and sweating skin. When Marc had first met her, he hadn’t expected her to last more than her first weekend’s performances. She sure as hell didn’t care much for the lifestyle, even the milder stuff.

But Karla sure did care for Adam—not that his former master sergeant noticed. Shit, the man was clueless.

“You’re here.” Well, speak of the devil, he turned to watch Adam approach him. After all these years of retirement, his friend still kept his hair trimmed to near-Marine regs. Not a high and tight, but close enough. There was a heavy mix of gray among the dark brown hair now. 

 “Sorry. Got held up on…a mission.”

Adam’s intense stare bore through him as if to say he knew Marc wasn’t being honest, which niggled at his conscience. Adam had gone back for Marc on that rooftop in Fallujah after the mortar blast had slammed a projectile into Marc’s lung. He’d visited him in the hospital as he recovered, often spending his nights watching over Marc as he slept. Most importantly, he’d helped ease some of Marc’s guilt over the loss of his big brother, Gino, who also had served under Adam in Afghanistan. He owed the man so much. Why was he trying to distance himself from him now?

Because you distance yourself from everyone.

No, that was different. Yeah, he did keep women’s at arm’s length emotionally, but knew Adam would die before he ever hurt him or break his trust. So, why didn’t he let him in on what was going on with his lack of interest in the lifestyle lately? Adam had been nudging him for months to tell him what was going on in Marc’s head. He’d quit scening, opting to volunteer as a DM or DMS most nights, when he showed up at the club. One thing was certain. Marc would continue as a co-owner of the club with these men; their band-of-brothers bond would never be broken.

Shit, he couldn’t explain what was going on to himself, much less to his friend. He was just…unsettled since Pamela had dumped him last year. In no mood to talk now either, Marc deflected the unspoken questions. “So, what’s the situation?”

Adam paused a moment, then stood down, rubbing the back of his neck. “Keep an eye on Room 8. They’re new to the scene and I don’t get the feeling the two know each other very well.”

The recent surge in erotic BDSM books had couples coming out of the woodwork to try out what their partners, some of them nearly strangers, had discovered in those romanticized stories. Too bad. Most of the women should have stuck with the romanticized version. They got off on the idea of BDSM, but not the actual experience. Besides, most of their “Doms” had no clue. Too many of them were more into abuse than any type of consensual power exchange.

Until the last few months, Marc had held a series of weekend training sessions when he was off duty from the mountain rescue squad and didn’t have any camping or skiing expeditions planned with his outfitter company. Those Doms who truly wanted to learn to please their partners in the BDSM lifestyle signed up, but they’d represented a small fraction of the couples he saw coming in to experiment on the equipment at the club. Of course, he hadn’t given a class for quite a while.

“I’ll keep an eye on them,” said Marc. Adam filled him in on how many DMs were on duty tonight and where each was stationed. “Anything else?”

“No, pretty routine.” They shared a grin. There was nothing routine about the Masters at Arms, now one of Denver’s hottest fetish clubs. They’d become so popular since hiring Karla to sing that they’d just started opening on Wednesdays, in addition to Fridays and Saturdays. 

As Karla began to sing "Song to the Siren," Marc’s and Adam’s gazes were drawn to the young woman commanding attention on the stage. Her wardrobe sure had improved since she’d first started; tonight, she wore a black satin and sequin number that concealed her shoulders, but left a large oval expanse of her chest open, showing off the swell of her breasts. Her arms were bare except for lacy black gloves covering her forearms and wrists. The hem of the dress was more than a foot above her knees, showing off her sexy long legs encased in black mesh stockings. Definitely hot.

Marc turned back to Adam to finish up before getting to work. Shit. The look of intense longing on his friend’s face bordered on pain. If Adam wanted her so badly, why didn’t he just go after her? He knew he shared some kind of history with the woman, but Adam was doing his damnedest to treat her like a daughter. Hell, anyone with eyes could see that the looks Karla gave him were anything but those of a daughter’s. Sure, there was a chronological age difference, but she sure as hell didn’t act twenty-five. She was mature, almost somber sometimes. Not that Adam noticed—when he allowed himself to get anywhere near her. Maybe he was still holding onto the memory of his dead wife, but, after nine years, and with a beautiful woman like Karla wanting him, the man needed to wake up and smell the vino.

Like you’re the expert on relationships. Marc sighed. He’d better get to work. “I’ll make the rounds.”

“Hang around for a drink later on,” Adam said. “I have Birra Moretti in stock.”

Marc knew Adam didn’t drink alcohol, but just wanted an opportunity to grill him for information. He knew Adam wasn’t going to take much more of Marc’s shit before he kicked him in the ass. But not tonight. “Let me take a rain check. It’s been a helluva long day. I’d better go check on Room 8.”

Adam nodded and let him go, probably because he was worried about the couple in the private theme room, not because he wanted to let Marc off the hook. Marc maneuvered around some couples gyrating on the dance floor near the bar, almost tripping over a sub kneeling on the floor beside her Dom at one of the tables.

The Italian woman, who looked too damn much like Melissa for his taste, gave him a come-on with her eyes, then smiled. Totally disrespectful to her Dom, who seemed not to even notice as he spoke with another Dom. Marc just bent down to instruct the Dom to please keep his sub out of the walkway, then continued toward the theme rooms. He and the other DMs were going to be spread thin tonight with a crowd this size.

The hallway to the scene rooms was painted red from floor to ceiling. Flickers from the simulated-fire wall sconces caused his shadow to dance against the walls as he approached the fourth room on the right. To accommodate the voyeurs—and allow the DMs to do their job—a large window gave him a vantage point over the scene inside the room.

Each of the theme rooms was set up with specialized equipment. Some provided furniture and items that conjured up popular fantasies—the office, the gynecologist’s office, the dungeon. He’d hired Luke Denton, his Search and Rescue squad partner and the carpenter who helped renovate the club, to make the specialized BDSM equipment for the club

Room 8 focused on a number of spanking and whipping paraphernalia, including a spanking bench, a leather love seat, a sling, and the St. Andrew’s Cross. A blond Dom, dressed in black leather vest and pants over which his slight paunch spilled, held a leather flogger. His sub was tied spread-eagle on the cross, naked except for the blindfold. Her long black hair hung in waves halfway down her back. Thank God it stopped short of the gorgeous curves of her ass.

Focus, man. You aren’t here to get off on a sub tonight.

NOBODY'S ANGEL will be available to purchase on Sept. 30 at Smashwords, and at Amazon and Barnes & Noble soon afterwards. 

 Kally loves to add new friends on Facebook. 
Or follow her on Twitter.