Excerpt from The Fix, Nightlong Book #2

nightlong2As the orangery filled, I counted at least double the audience I had last time.

I had also got rid of my skirt and blouse combo in favour of a tight latex dress. No point in hiding what I was.

“Good afternoon, ladies.”

“Afternoon,” they replied collectively.

“Apologies that I missed a couple of sessions, but I had to go out of the country for something that required my immediate attention. You’ll be glad to know I’m back now and going nowhere.”

I hated talking publicly; it felt like I was talking to myself.

They all smiled politely in response, eager for the lesson to begin.

“So last time I talked with you all about safe words and my colleagues have informed me that you’ve since covered ropes and spreader bars, am I right?”

Some nodded, while other women mentally groaned. I saw it amongst them.

I grabbed my whip and flipped the whiteboard over in a flash, showing the rear side. When I cracked my whip against the board, to point at what I’d written there, half of them jumped at the sound I made.

Half of them stared at the word I’d written down.

“Fear,” I said, repeating what was on the board.

Claire the square put her hand up.

“Yes, Claire.”

“What about fear?”

I cracked the whip against the board again and a couple of ladies still jumped. I zeroed in on one particular lady, asking, “Why you do fear this? I was introduced to the whip when I was thirteen. I’ve used it as a resource to teach horses. Why do you jump at my use of it?”

Claire the square put her hand up but I ignored her and waited for the jumpy woman to answer me. Eventually she said, “It sounds harsh and it looks painful and it’s… something I’ve never handled before. It’s foreign.”

“Yes, we fear what’s foreign. Don’t we ladies?”

Many of them nodded in agreement.

“For many people in the BDSM world however, they use the dynamics of dominatrix/sub or male dom and sub to face their fears, even explore them. When I said the safe word doesn’t always protect both partners, I meant it. Our heads vault off somewhere else when we’re aroused and engaged in a fantasy. We all know, the fantasy has the potential to go wrong.”

“So what are you saying?” It was a feisty looking blonde glamazon on the front row who spoke up without raising her hand.

“Fear is what you must play on if you are to become dominant. Find their fears and extract them, then explore them. BDSM doesn’t have to involve the giving or receiving of extreme pain to win submission. Fear of the unknown alone engages the sub to submit. Put a collar on them, or their bonds, and they know their place. What I’m saying is… rather than have your men addicted to pain, why not have them addicted to you instead? If they don’t submit, they face the potential loss of your love and men fear the loss of their woman. It’s what they fear more than anything. So through fear, extract their innermost desires, make them your slave and reward them heartily when they do exactly as you say.”

I looked around and spotted many scribbling wildly in their notebooks.

“How do we start?” Glamazon asked again, no hand in the air.

“First, you find your confidence.”

Many groaned as if that was something they found hard – or impossible.

A woman at the back stuck her hand in the air and I nodded for her to speak.

“But all of you here are stunning, like models. We’re just ordinary.”

“Everyone is ordinary, until they become extraordinary,” Amber said, walking to the front to stand next to me.

While I wore a latex dress, Amber wore a navy, lace-overlay playsuit.

“Confidence is simply believing that when you walk down the street, you don’t need a man to notice you to know you look good. Looking good comes from within. It’s not anti-feminist to treat yourself, or to look after yourself, so that you look good. You’re doing it for yourselves. You have to make your men worship you. Be aloof… be cool… be mysterious. Be unreadable, be hard to get. Make them work for you. Challenge them. Surprise them. Wear styles you’ve never worn before, try out new shades but for god sake, above all else, feel comfortable in what you wear and remember that he loves you, not labels or expensive toiletries. He loves you. And if he doesn’t love you, he’s not worth it and there’ll be another guy out there desperate to submit and worship you.”

“How do we surprise them?” one lady asked. “Some of us have been married a long frickin’ time.”

I suppressed my laughter, noticing many others were amused, and I took over from where Amber left off, telling the audience, “Does he have a favourite fragrance of yours? Maybe one you wore in the early days? If so, spray it on his handkerchief and pop it in his pocket. Spray it on a pair of knickers and pop those in his pocket. Even better, have some fun while wearing the knickers and pop them in his pocket, unwashed. Show him that you don’t necessarily need him to find pleasure. It’s your gift to him that he gets to pleasure you. You are the goddess and he’s your slave. He needs direction, not you. You know your body and he needs help in knowing it too . . .”

The Fix releases November 1st.

Visit Amazon to download book one: Here

Visit Amazon to pre-order book two: Here

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The Fix – Nightlong #2 – Pre-Order now

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Blurb:

You don’t know my story.
You don’t know about the first woman
To take my heart.
The woman who
Bewitched
Teased
Humiliated
And fascinated me.

By the end of my tale, you’ll know
The real Dante Sinclair,
The man behind the myth.
You’ll know who my heart belongs to
And why I can never give up
What I am.

The fixer could be fixed
BUT
To fix me or her . . . ?
That is the question.

Amazon Links:

AMAZON UK

AMAZON US

AMAZON AU

AMAZON CA

Teaser:

Since they’d begun engaging in nights where she was on the receiving end of his lash, Dante and Shay had both developed more and more appetite for the exchange of power. She gave up her body to his control and he didn’t have to give up his heart. Secretly, however… he wanted to give up his heart, to share his fears and worries with another. He wanted nothing more than for someone else to carry the burden of his sadness, matched with a heart so torn and heavy, desperate for succour. He longed for answers, for something… for life. He longed for someone to take away the need in his heart and wrap it with theirs. He felt alone and it was what was killing him; because the hunger for Shay was there, the obsession, the need and the want, but neither of them wanted to consummate any sort of relationship. Any sort of love. Not with one another, anyway.