Issue 02: Excerpt from Diary of a Band Slave
An exclusive excerpt, plus new music and reading recommendations
What a different world we are now in, since my last newsletter update. I hope you are all doing well, staying safe, hanging in there. This pandemic has taken a toll on many of us, and it weighs heavily on me.
I have to apologize for pushing back the release date of Tales of Ownership. This story and its characters — I want to get this fantasy world right and do justice by it. I’ve been editing and re-editing, adding things on (there are four or five related bonus stories at the end that didn’t fit the narrative but I didn’t want to leave out; in fact, that’s one of the stories I’m sharing exclusively in this newsletter) — all in service of making it better, I promise. At this time, I don’t have a specific publication date other than Summer 2020.
You can find other short stories I’ve written since my last update on Bdsmlr, and since we are staying indoors, I was inspired by Trent Evans to also open up my inbox to prompt requests. I can’t promise a story, but I can try!
What I’m working on:
A Cole/Laura/Steve novel. Three college friends involved in a MMf relationship. I love writing about these three. You can read their first appearance here.
Work continues on Diary of a Band Slave! I’m sharing an excerpt in this newsletter. I enjoy making use of the “diary/journal” entry structure. The diary that the titular slave uses is also the journal her Dominant requires her to use for various assignments. Suffice it to say, I’m having fun experimenting with this format.
If you read Training Mrs. Olliver, you were introduced to a Dominant who visited our husband and wife protagonists. His name was Mark Shannon, and there were a few references to a previous submissive he had. Mark has very particular kinks, and I’m exploring them.
Excerpt from Diary of a Band Slave (M/f, objectification)
We’re halfway through this godforsaken tour, and I’ve lost count of how many ruined orgasms Ryan’s dealt out to me. How many times he’s driven me to the pinnacle of pleasure and held me there, while I’m screaming and sobbing and sweating, until my whole life before this moment and after has been wiped clean.
It’s the band’s most successful tour yet. They’re playing all sold-out stadiums, critics are raving, media requests and other gigs are pouring in. Ryan says it’s because I’m his muse, and the state I’m in is inspiring.
Yeah. Inspiring. Inspiring, for him to see how desperate I can get. Because even though it’s a hopeless situation, even though I know Ryan’s ironclad rule—no orgasms for Jessa when we’re on tour—I still...can’t help...hoping. Hoping that my Master will take pity on me. Wishing, with every fiber of my being, that he’ll feel like being entertained by how he can make me explode. Begging for mercy, begging for a climax that will never come. Not until the band has officially wrapped.
I never knew how low I’d sink just for an orgasm before Ryan took me on tour with him the first time.
The guys in the band know about me, of course. Ryan doesn’t hide anything from his bandmates. He shares everything with his brothers, including his sex slave. Maybe especially his sex slave.
It’s so degrading, to be passed around between the four of them. If only the fans knew how deviant they really are. They might guess it about Nash, but they’d never believe Ryan Kane, the golden boy with the raspy, soul-rending voice, had a sex slave and that he spent most of his free time tying her up and torturing her until she broken down begging, every single time.
One time, Ryan was in the middle of fucking me with a massive dildo the size of a donkey’s dick, when inspiration struck. He started writing the lyrics to “Pretty Little Tease” on my body. It just went platinum last month for selling over two million units. In these days when streaming music platforms reign supreme, that’s huge. They even released a limited series on vinyl, and it sold out in three days.
That’s all great and all, but every time I hear that song, I remember wearing the oppressive leather hood with only a small slit cut out under my nose, blindfolded and gagged beneath its smooth face. I remember being tied outstretched to the bed while Ryan drilled the dildo into me, bumping the head of the toy against my cervix while it competed for space with the inflatable plug bottomed out in my ass. I remember feeling so paper-thin, with the clamps biting into my nipples, living for the crests when Ryan tongued my clit, only to come crashing back down when he screwed the dildo deeper into my cunt. I remember feeling shredded, when he left the toy stuck inside me, then the acrid scent of permanent marker, the tickling feelings as the felt tip scratched across my skin. Over my breasts, down my torso, over my pussy. His lyrics marched up and down the inside of my thighs, traversed every part of my bareness, and I wore them on my body for two weeks before they finally rubbed off.
Ryan said he thought about tattooing them on me. He still talks about doing that. He’s joking about it, I think. He likes using my body as a blank canvas too much to permanently mark me with someone else’s ink and handiwork.
Every time I hear that opening guitar riff for “Pretty Little Tease,” my breath shortens and I get wet. Can’t help myself. The moment of its creation is so…visceral to me.
Does anything good ever happen to women who are immortalized in songs?
All I know is Ryan gave me a luxurious velvet box with a silver anklet inside to celebrate the song’s chart-topping success. It’s really a cuff. The outside is stamped with PROPERTY OF RYAN KANE. Inside the band, the word MUSE is engraved in an elegant script—sometimes I think I dreamed it, because I only saw it that one time, when I took it out of the box and held it in the palm of my hand to the light, before I put the anklet on and held it in place while Ryan soldered it together. His dad used to be an electronics technician and jewelry designer on the side, so he knew how to do it—how to fuse the metal together so it’s an unbroken fetter I can never take off.
Did I actually see the word Muse on this manacle? I wonder about this a lot. I wonder if it’s imprinted on my ankle beneath the cuff.
Ryan says I’ll get a matching ankle-cuff when their next song goes platinum. I’ll have to take a good look at the inside of this one before it goes on.
What I’m listening to: “Wicked Games” by Ramin Djawadi, a moody orchestral cover of the song by The Weeknd. It played in the recent Westworld episode, and I am hooked on it. I’ve also listened to “Teatime” by Warmmilk, audio erotica. This is a short little delightful treat, and the author narrates it in the perfect “Alice” voice.
What I’m reading:
At His Will by Trent Evans is the latest novel by one of my favorite BDSM erotica writers. Plenty of hard kink and intense domination scenes thread together the compelling relationship of two perfectly matched people engaged in an intense power exchange. Trent never holds back and always delivers for me.
Sweeter by Eve Dangerfield, a very short — too short! — story with ageplay/DDLG themes. Sweet and sexy and softhearted, too. My dearest wish is for Eve Dangerfield to write another full length ageplay novel that doesn’t hold back from exploring this kink, because what she’s put out so far (Act Your Age) has only whet my appetite.
“Captive of the Gold Wing” by Mike Silklover is a 1,000 word bondage story that fired my imagination right up. Another short story that I wish was longer. This is an old, old story that I read long ago and just rediscovered.
“Wedding Night” by Zeb makes me exhale, deeply, and shiver uncontrollably. This story is so hot. There are details in it that make me yearn desperately for a sequel or follow-up, anything more.
I’m finding so many fantastic writers on Bdsmlr. Here are three blogs I’ve been enjoying: Caroline, conquered, Victoria Johnson Erotica, and lace-leashes.