Boy do we have news for you. His Little Courtesan
, the sequel to Little Lady Jane
is finishing up in the production process and is getting a cover as we speak. Hopefully we’ll have some juicy scenes to share with you on Saturday and next week. This week we’re sharing The Whip Master
which will be the first book in the Fifty Maids of Graye
series again. It was handed in to Blushing Books this week, yay! One more completed book down, many more to go. Make sure you head on over to the Wip It Up
blog to see what everyone else has been up to in their not so spare time.
The Whip Master
The time of the annual Festival had arrived and Graye Manor bustled with a frenzy of activity. Its rolling, manicured grounds echoed with the sharp sounds of a whip striking human flesh and a shrill cry filled with both pain and pleasure followed, bringing excited smiles and eager anticipation to the faces and hearts of the listeners. The theme this year was Cirque de Sade and, with it, the magnificent display of skills, beauty, and selfless service that would end at the auction block. Guests would be arriving from all over the globe to be served, and entertained, by the staff of this unique establishment.
The outside world knew nothing about its purpose, or the real history behind the cold stone walls, and Dorian Graye intended it to remain that way. Things happened in the Manor- things that the real world would never embrace.
Pride, Integrity, Loyalty and Love, the acronym of PILL, was a hard one for many to swallow in the eyes in today’s society. In honor of his mentor’s vision for a rich alternative to the old world ideas of domestic service, Graye Manor was founded. Select applicants, known as Graye’s Maids, were trained in the classic skills of a domestic- with one major difference. Each was drawn to the darker side of service and flourished under the command of a hard palm upon a bare backside or even, in more hardcore cases, the slash of a whip.
Dorian Graye was a master of the Florentine long tail whip, and had made an art form of throwing the braided snakes to paint a human canvas. Like his namesake, he played hard, but he loved even harder. Under the slightly sadistic exterior was a man whose greatest desire was for each of his beloved maids to find happiness. He allowed nothing to stand in the way and was willing to sacrifice anything to grant them their hearts desire. Even if the journey to that desire meant suffering as the door to previously unspoken taboos were opened and explored.
The Whip Master is a story about power, surrender, difficult choices and sacrifice during the decadent Cirque de Sade where anything is possible, and everything is probable.
She trembled again and he reached his hand to stroke her flesh, the calluses of his fingers and palms reminding her that his hand was whip-hardened. One inhaled sharply, relaxing under his touch, yet also excited by the same. She reminded him of an instrument as he tuned her nerves under his fingertips until they were tight and ready to sing. One hot palm rested firmly on the small of her back, keeping her connected with him, as he reached under the long, black waist coat and removed the 16-plait black and red signal whip. It unfurled to the floor like a living snake, writhing and twisting until it was free of the coil that had kept it confined.
He shook it gently and brought it to his nose to inhale the delicious warmth of quality leather. The whip had been a wedding gift from his wife. One had approached the master leather crafter who Dorian used to design and craft all his leather work, and requested that he teach her how to plait and knot a whip made to his specifications. She picked the hides, dyed and cut them, weighted the base, and learned the intricacies of a Turkish knot and tensioned plaiting of the weave. It had taken her nearly four months before her teacher gave the stamp of approval.
He ran his hand along the length of the tail, the supple braid sliding through his hands with familiar ease. He did not reveal his intent, other than that this time would be a reward. Those words, to One, could mean only one thing: pain. The glorious pain that would bring her to the cusp of pleasure and take her over the edge to soar on featherless wings. She quivered again and he knew that it was not the pain she feared. No, her fear was caused in the knowledge that he could stop the pain in a sadistic moment and leave her dangling on a precipice of unsatisfied release.