| Author: | Jessica Whitethread | ISBN: | 9781311588463 |
| Publisher: | Jessica Whitethread | Publication: | February 4, 2014 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords | Language: | English |
| Author: | Jessica Whitethread |
| ISBN: | 9781311588463 |
| Publisher: | Jessica Whitethread |
| Publication: | February 4, 2014 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords |
| Language: | English |
Summary:
Reunited with Ewan and with their relationship elevated to a new footing, Joanna might think she has found her paradise, but is it everything she can ask for? After only a few short weeks of bliss, her own greater designs are beginning to evoke Ewan’s ire and plunge the unlikely pair back into a state of sexual contest and discipline play that verges on the frighteningly real. Is there anything for her to do? Any way to use this dynamic to her advantage and by it win the man she has always longed for? The answers to these questions will play out in this thrilling conclusion of the Blind in the Mansion Series.
Excerpt:
I stood in the center of the room. At first glance it appeared empty, but when I turned back the way I had come I saw a strange machine back in the shadows against the rear wall. My first confused impression was that it belonged in a carnival. A large red target stood at one end like you would find on a dunk tank. Across from the target was a chair. Restraints dangled from the armrests, and what appeared to be a vibrator was positioned in the seat. The woman entered the room behind me carrying a number of signs and advertisements. The cardboard at the top of her pile was covered in large red lettering. "Sex Show, Free Admission, Free to Play. Today only. Hit the target, give the girl your choice of pleasure or pain. Sponsored by Rimitroff Vodka."
The reality of the situation hit me then, starkly, coolly, inescapably real. About to happen. In all these months when I thought I had become surer of myself, more resistant to embarrassment, more resilient as a person, I was really just becoming more comfortable with Ewan. Chagrin at the thought of strangers, the public, watching me, tormenting me, alighted within me in panic, in tortuous claustrophobia. I had to get out of this building. I couldn't do this. I knew I would break. I would sob and say I will do anything and I will never question you, Ewan. I would be miserable and humiliated and aroused by my own humiliation and all the more humiliated by virtue of my arousal. Only afterwards would I look back with clarity and horror and shame, unable to change what had happened or who had seen it happening or what they thought. Total, utter powerlessness was flooding me in chilling bursts.
"You might want to stretch a bit before I strap you in," the woman said from behind me. "This show is going to run a long time."
"How long?" I asked, wondering if it wouldn't be better not to know.
"Until I get a phone call. Or until a cop walks in here and shuts us down, I suppose. After all, when your panties come off you'll be violating several state laws."
"You're saying I could get a record for this?"
"That will probably be up to Mr. Armistead. He has enough friends at the DA’s office that it won't happen if he doesn't want it to, if that makes you feel better."
I sighed a little. I was shocked at how tremulous and quiet the sound was. "It would have a couple months ago."
She shrugged her shoulders unsympathetically and began setting up the signs.
I watched her for a few minutes, something very heavy sitting where my stomach normally was. After a while I shook myself back into the moment and began to stretch. Was I getting all the right muscles? I had never been much of an athlete. Then again, this wasn't exactly a sport.
It was around 11 when the woman turned on the lights and opened the door. I could see a rope running across the sidewalk like you would see outside of a club, but there was no one outside. I felt the momentary relief that a prisoner on death row must know so well. No one was here and my clothes remained on, for the time being.
I walked over and sat down on the edge of the chair. There was nothing in the room to distract me from what was coming. I tried counting the tiles on the floor.
Summary:
Reunited with Ewan and with their relationship elevated to a new footing, Joanna might think she has found her paradise, but is it everything she can ask for? After only a few short weeks of bliss, her own greater designs are beginning to evoke Ewan’s ire and plunge the unlikely pair back into a state of sexual contest and discipline play that verges on the frighteningly real. Is there anything for her to do? Any way to use this dynamic to her advantage and by it win the man she has always longed for? The answers to these questions will play out in this thrilling conclusion of the Blind in the Mansion Series.
Excerpt:
I stood in the center of the room. At first glance it appeared empty, but when I turned back the way I had come I saw a strange machine back in the shadows against the rear wall. My first confused impression was that it belonged in a carnival. A large red target stood at one end like you would find on a dunk tank. Across from the target was a chair. Restraints dangled from the armrests, and what appeared to be a vibrator was positioned in the seat. The woman entered the room behind me carrying a number of signs and advertisements. The cardboard at the top of her pile was covered in large red lettering. "Sex Show, Free Admission, Free to Play. Today only. Hit the target, give the girl your choice of pleasure or pain. Sponsored by Rimitroff Vodka."
The reality of the situation hit me then, starkly, coolly, inescapably real. About to happen. In all these months when I thought I had become surer of myself, more resistant to embarrassment, more resilient as a person, I was really just becoming more comfortable with Ewan. Chagrin at the thought of strangers, the public, watching me, tormenting me, alighted within me in panic, in tortuous claustrophobia. I had to get out of this building. I couldn't do this. I knew I would break. I would sob and say I will do anything and I will never question you, Ewan. I would be miserable and humiliated and aroused by my own humiliation and all the more humiliated by virtue of my arousal. Only afterwards would I look back with clarity and horror and shame, unable to change what had happened or who had seen it happening or what they thought. Total, utter powerlessness was flooding me in chilling bursts.
"You might want to stretch a bit before I strap you in," the woman said from behind me. "This show is going to run a long time."
"How long?" I asked, wondering if it wouldn't be better not to know.
"Until I get a phone call. Or until a cop walks in here and shuts us down, I suppose. After all, when your panties come off you'll be violating several state laws."
"You're saying I could get a record for this?"
"That will probably be up to Mr. Armistead. He has enough friends at the DA’s office that it won't happen if he doesn't want it to, if that makes you feel better."
I sighed a little. I was shocked at how tremulous and quiet the sound was. "It would have a couple months ago."
She shrugged her shoulders unsympathetically and began setting up the signs.
I watched her for a few minutes, something very heavy sitting where my stomach normally was. After a while I shook myself back into the moment and began to stretch. Was I getting all the right muscles? I had never been much of an athlete. Then again, this wasn't exactly a sport.
It was around 11 when the woman turned on the lights and opened the door. I could see a rope running across the sidewalk like you would see outside of a club, but there was no one outside. I felt the momentary relief that a prisoner on death row must know so well. No one was here and my clothes remained on, for the time being.
I walked over and sat down on the edge of the chair. There was nothing in the room to distract me from what was coming. I tried counting the tiles on the floor.
