Prior to becoming a writer of romantic and erotic fiction, Cindy went to college at the University of Hawaii at Manoa and graduated with a BFA in Art. After a brief attempt at an art career, she decided the ‘starving artist’ life wasn’t for her. She worked for ten years in the corporate arena, but now spends her days as a full time author.
Her first published work–The Point of Distraction Series–was inspired by a collection of short stories she wrote to entertain her best friend. Since then she’s explored her inner bad girl, producing books full of humor and packed with real emotion.
When not chained to her laptop, she enjoys belly dancing, international cooking, and making jewelry. She and her family make their home in the Washington, DC area.
BDSM curious, Georgia aka Red, attends a lunch meeting of the Rocky Road Social Club where she meets a dom who introduces himself as Black. Tall, caramel-skinned and truly gorgeous, Red is drawn in by Black’s commanding presence.
After one dinner together, Red agrees to explore a weekend as Black’s sub. He pushes her to the limits of pain, pleasure and beyond. Though she delights in his firm hand and even firmer lash, when Black proposes a more permanent arrangement, Red wonders if she’s ready to submit―body and soul―to the man who dominates her blackest desires.
I didn’t know what would greet me as she opened the door. I half expected heavy metal music to roar in the background and men in gimp suits or slaves on leashes to skulk around their masters’ feet, but the scene was nothing like that. Instead, a group of fairly ordinary folks milled about, cocktails and plates in hand.
Sure, there were some people with alarming piercings, some with brightly colored hair and some wearing collars, but most looked just as vanilla as the other patrons in the main dining room. And no one sported a gimp suit.
Mildly disappointed, I thanked the hostess and slipped into the room.
A beautiful older woman with dyed black hair in a black dress and black Doc Martens greeted me with a toothy smile. “Welcome, welcome. I’m Rocky and this is my little family. Nice to see a new face here.”
She took my hand and patted it.
A lump so large I couldn’t breathe formed in my throat. “I-I…”
“Relax, dear.” She rubbed my back. “You’re among friends.”
“Thanks,” I croaked. “I’m Georgia.”
“Is that how you want to be known? Most of us use choose a play name, but since this is a your first time we can go with Georgia.”
A play name? I hadn’t even thought of that. Online, I’d chosen the username “CuriousGeorgia” but I didn’t think it appropriate going forward.
I ran a hand over my auburn curls. “How about Red?”
“That’ll work.” Rocky clapped her hands, drawing the attention of the group. “Everyone, meet Red. She’s a novice so play nice…or nicely naughty.”
Some of the others flipped waves at me or smiled, but most went back to their conversations.
“Get yourself a drink and mingle a bit,” Rocky said, squeezing my shoulder. Then she waved at someone across the room. “Nice to meet you, Red.”
As soon as Rocky left, several men walked up. I felt like a wounded fish in the middle of a feeding frenzy. Sharks of all shapes and sizes schooled around me.
“Are you here to meet anyone specific?”
“Is this really your first munch?”
“What kind of play are you interested in?”
“Dom, sub or switch?”
Rapid-fire questions came from every direction and I didn’t know what to say. Searching the room for Rocky, I saw she was on the opposite side, deep in conversation.
Near the banquet table, a tall man with a caramel-colored complexion, cropped black hair and stunning bone structure stared at me. Well, not so much stared as he seemed to be drinking in the buzz around me. The cut of his shirt and slacks spoke of a man with a personal tailor. The clothing skimmed the outline of his well-maintained form without clinging too tightly. His calculating gaze pierced me. I blinked, trying to turn my attention to the bevy of men around me.
“I’m really new at this.” I put out my hands, the universal sign for back away, but this only seemed to intrigue them more.
Showing up here might have been a mistake. I’d been reticent to dive into the lifestyle for this very reason. But what did I expect? Doms dominated. It was their nature. The fable about the scorpion and the frog flashed through my mind. I felt even more absurd and out of place.
But then he materialized in the midst of the throng. Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome. A mere flick of his wrist dispersed the other men, no objections.
“Wow. Thanks.” I drew the tie of my wraparound dress through my fingers.
He stared at me without reply, handing me a flute of champagne, his hazel eyes never wavering. A gulp of the bubbly wine steadied my nerves.
“I’m Red.” I extended a hand, which he declined to shake.
“You can call me Black.” His lips twisted into a predatory grin. “Or ‘sir’ works just as well.”
My pulse quickened, pounding so hard I found it difficult to breathe. It was as if he’d drawn all the oxygen out of the room.
“What side are you on?” he asked.
The meaning of his question took a second to register―he was asking me if I was a domme or sub.
“I don’t know yet,” I mumbled.
“Oh, you know. You’re just afraid to say it aloud.” He brushed his thumb over my lips. Flinching at the overly intimate gesture, I shifted from foot to foot.
Leaning closer, he rested a hand my forearm. Fingertips brushing my skin, he murmured, “I can make you scream out which side you play on.”
A rush of breath escaped me―not so much an exhalation, but my body’s way of saying Yes, please, I’d like that very much. My cheeks burning, my cunt equally as hot, I met his gaze.
He plucked a napkin from the table, scribbling a few lines on it. “Meet me here next Friday at eight. Don’t be late.”
His stare fixed on mine, he paused a second. Maybe he was waiting for my reply or maybe the eye contact was for emphasis. My head swam, a thousand thoughts swirling around my brain. My body buzzed with excitement. Black was the one. No doubt about it.
“I’ll be there.” I took the napkin.
“I know you will.”
With that, he walked away and I watched his retreat, his confident strides hypnotic.
At 8:55, I knocked on his door. I heard him moving inside the house, but he didn’t answer.
A couple minutes passed and still I stood on his porch, the crickets chirping in the cooling night air. Maybe he hadn’t heard my knock. I rang the doorbell.
Another minute or so passed and every second that ticked by left me feeling foolish. Why was he making me wait? Finally out of patience, I fished my cell phone out of my purse and hit the auto-dial for his number.
As soon as Black jerked open the door, I knew I’d made a mistake. His lips downturned, his eyes narrowed, he folded his arms over his chest.
The intensity of his stare unnerved me.
Fixing my gaze on the ground, I offered an explanation though he hadn’t demanded one, “I wanted to be sure I was on time.”
“But you aren’t on time, you’re early. Nine o’clock means nine o’clock.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“Go into the dining room and sit.” He moved aside to let me pass. “To your left.”
Hurrying to do as instructed, I didn’t have much time to take in the decor of the house. Once I’d taken a seat, I studied the austerity of the mission-style dining table, chairs and china cabinet. One massive photo―at least four feet by six feet―hung on an otherwise bare wall. It depicted a close-up of a fig sliced in half. So suggestive of female genitalia was the imagery that I found myself averting my eyes, sneaking furtive glances. Every time I dared to look at it for more than a couple of seconds, my cheeks burned and butterflies flitted around my stomach.
The door clicked shut and I heard his footsteps head in the opposite direction. Then he returned, his cell phone in hand. Drawing his finger across the screen, he turned it so I could read. The glowing display showed his call log.
“Read the most recent entry,” he said.
“It says Red.”
“And is it an incoming call or an outgoing one?”
“Incoming,” I mumbled. I knew exactly what I’d done wrong.
“I said never to call me.” He grabbed me by the hair and I flinched more out of surprise than pain. He wasn’t pulling all that hard…yet.
“I’m sorry.” I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, excited by the control he exerted over me.
Setting the phone aside, he moved behind me. Leaning down, he let his lips brush past my ear. I could feel his breath on my cheek and neck. Inhaling his cologne, I closed my eyes, my heartbeat quickening.
“You don’t listen.” He tightened his grasp, shaking me a little. I gasped, the pain sharper now, the throbbing of my pussy radiating throughout my body.
I didn’t reply, struggling to suppress a smile though I couldn’t figure out just why I felt like grinning.
“What’s funny?” He tugged at my hair.
The tug hurt so much my eyes watered. “Nothing.”
“Say it. Say, ‘I don’t listen’.” His hand my head held back, forcing me to make eye contact.
“I―” My voice cracked, arousal and agony gripping my throat. “I don’t listen.”
“Do you need me to make you?”
“Yes…please.” My legs trembled, my pussy quivering at the thought of what he would do to punish me.
Pulling me up and bending me over the table, he pressed my cheek to the cool surface, hand still tangled in my hair, but he’d eased up on the agonizing hold.
The skirt I’d taken so much care to pick out wound up crumpled around my waist. He ripped off my panties then caressed the swell of my ass. I heard the jangle of his belt buckle and the whoosh of it sliding out of his belt loops. Oh God, he was going to―
I cried out and squirmed, the initial sting so intense I could hardly stand it, but he held me down.
The belt smacked against my ass, heat spreading over the entire cheek. I yelped and whimpered. A sharp burning sensation ran along the junction of my buttock and my thigh and I was sure he’d given me a welt. The thought turned me on to no end. I was bare-assed, splayed out across a table and one of the most gorgeous men I’d ever met was punishing me. Oh yes, I wanted more.
Another crack of the belt and I could feel my juices wetting my pussy lips. The pain transformed from an unpleasant sensation to the heat of a lover’s touch. Instead of a cry of objection, I moaned, writhing against the table.
“You like that?” He growled the words, his voice even deeper than usual.
“Yes.” I arched my back, thrusting my ass toward him.
“Yes, what?” He caught me by the hair again.
He whipped my buttock again and I called out, the skin raw now. My cunt contracted, so swollen and wet he could have easily slid inside me, no more foreplay needed, but I knew he wouldn’t give me that kind of pleasure yet. I hadn’t earned it.
“Your pretty little ass is the most lovely shade of red.”
I felt him drop to his knees, running his tongue over the areas that stung the most. A hiss escaped me. Parting my labia with two fingers, he swiped at my slit.
“You’re so wet. You’re going to be fun to play with.”
I panted, desperate that he continue my training, but instead he righted my skirt and helped me up. Swiping the finger coated in my cream over my lips, he moved in for a kiss. His tongue flicked at the musky fluid then plunged inside my mouth. I inhaled the scent of pussy mingled with his cologne unable to get enough of the heady scent.