RC Jones poses a problem for his sibling, who wants RC out of the way before their grandfather's upcoming birthday. Shanghaied, inebriated, and tossed onto a cruise ship for the kinky, only to wake up with a leather-clad dominatrix standing over him—just what every alpha male needs!
April is a psychology major who earns extra money during the summer by working as a dominatrix on a cruise ship.
When RC gets shanghaied—she thinks he's her next submissive. But a challenge is issued—if she falls for him during his 'vacation', she becomes his submissive for two weeks.
What's a woman to do?
Publisher's Note: This book has been released previously. It has been revised and re-edited for release with Totally Bound Publishing.
General Release Date: 21st April 2008
“Y-y-you want me to put my tongue...on...on your...pardon me? Lick your what?” RC Jones blinked the sleep from his eyes and looked up at the formidable bikini-clad redhead before him who had a thigh-high black leather stiletto pointed directly beneath his chin and a small black crop caressing his forehead.
“Slaves are not supposed to ask questions—they’re supposed to do as they’re told.” She drew the crop over his ear and down his neck. “I told you...lick my toes. Now!”
He tried focusing on her face, but his eyes refused to leave the apex where her thighs met her crotch. “I’d rather lick something else.” He tried to wink, but his lashes matted, and his eyes felt as dry as the all-weather carpet beneath his hands and knees.
She gave a throaty laugh then squatted to his level, her eyes never leaving his. “You like what you see, huh?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am!”
“And what would you do to me if you could?” She dragged her tongue across her bottom lip suggestively.
“I would fuck you until you begged for mercy!”
She rose and walked behind him then straddled him, sitting astride his chest, rubbing her crotch up and down his bare skin, moaning. “What, no foreplay?”
“F-f-foreplay?” RC struggled for words, but his tongue felt thick against his teeth and the walls of his mouth. He shook his head and tried again. “As much as you could stand, darlin’.”
The redhead leaned back and stroked his cock, her hands gently probing until they found his balls. “That feel good, baby?”
He felt as though he would burst. “Y-yes.”
“Want to touch mine?”
By now, he was ready to cream himself. “You just bring that pretty pussy a little closer to my mouth.”
Then the redhead stood, smacked one of his thighs with the whip, and walked towards the door.
“This one is useless,” she said to whoever was standing within earshot out of RC’s range of vision. “Sober him up then ring me.” She came back to him and placed the heeled shoe under his chin again. “You need help. Serious help.”
I need help? “Ri-ight.” Why am I so groggy? Why won’t the room stand still? He stared in her general direction. “I offered to stick my tongue in your pussy—what more do you want?”
“More than you are able to give, I’m afraid.”
“I’ve died and woke up in the Playboy Mansion.” He stared, mesmerised by the long length of leg that went from his chest to...all the way up. His body stiffened at the thought of where the appendage might end, and he stared at her blankly. “Where am I?” She popped him none too gently on his shoulder with the crop, repeating her demand, then frowned slightly. After a few seconds of studying him, she moistened her full, red lips with a flick of her pink tongue. “Up, slave. They said you might be difficult.” Slave? RC blinked a couple more times and then focused on the deliciously creamy skin barely covered by the scanty leather bra and thong that matched her boots. He shook his head and blinked again. Nope. She was still there.
“Please tell me we fucked last night.” It was more of a prayer coming from him than a request or question. “I don’t remember a damned thing we did, but I’d sure like to have the memory of it once I’m sober.”
“Honey, I may have gotten laid last night, but I’m pretty sure you didn’t.”
“Am I on one of those television shows where they film you once they’ve tricked you into doing something stupid?”
“You want to be video-taped?” she asked. “Look around, cowboy—this look like a studio setting to you?” She waved her hands expressively around the small room.
RC did as she asked. Solid, polished wood floor, still practically beneath his nose. Soft blue walls splashed with white life preservers and fishnet. He snorted. We did it in Long John Silvers? Nah.
“Oh, no. Don’t answer a question with a question. I’m a little fuzzy here, so don’t confuse me further. Do you know that you have...the most...beautiful little heart-shaped face?” He squinted and stared. “Are your eyes really that green?” The redhead bit her lip, her eyes bright with laughter as she stifled a chuckle. Why was she just staring at him as if he’d lost his mind? Didn’t she know how rude that was?
“You’re just a migfant...nigafant? No, that’s not right either. You’re just my ‘nagimation.”
“Easy, cowboy—you’re about to lose your balance.”
“I can control anything!” he declared, not quite in control of anything at the moment, including his speech. “Just ask anybody who works for me! Damn, my mouth feels like I’ve been chewing cotton.” He looked up at her leather thong. “Ha! But you’re not wearing anything cotton, are you?” He guffawed and tried reaching for her crotch but fell forward, yowling in pain as his elbows cracked against the floor.
Her only response was to cock her head and tap him on the thigh with that infernal crop.
“I don’t suppose you’d stop whacking me with that damned leather thing, would you?”
“Sure.” She tapped him again. “What’s your safe word?”
“Your safe word. You gave us your safe word when you boarded.”
“I’ll give you the word. How about you just come down here and give me a big, wet kiss, little darlin’?”
She popped him once more lightly with the crop.
Bobbie Cole is the multi-published author of over fifty short stories and confessions, a couple of non-fiction books, and over a dozen novellas and novels. Her mainstream fiction is written under Bobbie Cole, her erotic fiction under the pen names of Lyn Cash and Cash Cole.