The Journal by Liv Honeywell and Domitri
Xavier
Blurb:
“Come to my study at eight o’clock sharp. Dress for dinner. Wear high heels and put on that dress –
you know what I expect of you.”
When the order comes Livia is torn between
anticipation and dread.
Does he know? How could he possibly know
what she has done? And how can she find the words and the courage to tell him?
As eight o’clock edges ever nearer,
Livia waits outside the study door, trembling; uncertain of what she will find
when she comes face to face with her Master.
If he knows… If he does, there will be consequences. There is no doubt about
that.
What will be the price for her moment of
disobedience?
Excerpt:
He heard the knock on the door of
his study. This was her signal that she had complied with all his instructions,
not a request to enter. She would come in when he said so and she would never
dare to knock again.
He had asked her to dress
immaculately, smartly; as if they were going to dinner. Her hair must be
perfect, away from her face. Her make up flawless, perhaps to look a little
tarty, but she would know how far to go and the penalties for going over the
top. She would be wearing elegant, high heeled shoes.
He told her to come in, gently,
softly; as if she were merely coming in for a coffee or cocktails. Immediately
she stepped into the room; looking down with her hands behind her. She would
never look at his face directly without his express permission.
"Come to me."
She had no idea what to expect.
Would he be soft and tender? Or would he sweep her off her feet by mauling her
like an animal. She knew that her body was his and he could treat it in any way
that pleased him.
He ran his fingers through her
hair, gently folding it back and forth and her head moved with his every
gesture. Then he thrust his fingers deep toward her skull and tugged at her
hair, moving her head in all directions. She let out an involuntary squeal.
"This is no time for making
such noises."
The quiet scream stopped
immediately. She was under his power, his presence; his dominance. There was
never any doubt about it.
He put his hands over her eyes
and closed them, turning her face downwards. With effortless ease, he bound her
hands behind her by her wrists and elbows. He loved the way that this pushed
her breasts forwards and outwards. He had no need to bind her but it pleased
him; a bound woman was an aesthetic pleasure.
He put one hand over her mouth.
The other roamed over every contour of her body; her pouting breasts, her
waist, behind her neck. He moved to her pussy and felt that it was already wet.
Then both hands wandered quickly and powerfully over her whole body. She let
out a yelp of pleasure which he immediately silenced with his strong fingers.
She was his to do with as he wished.
He turned away from her, then
turned back to look. She was beautiful. She was his. Her pain would be his
pleasure...
________________
I knocked on
the study door, quietly, almost hesitantly. I knew so well the knots in the
wood, the whorls and lines of the grain. How many times had I stood here,
gazing at this door; trying to guess what would happen when I opened it?
I wondered
how long he would have me wait. I didn't know what to think. Did he somehow
know what I'd done? Had he been waiting for me to tell him, giving me the
chance to own up? Hoping that I would before he had to make me? I couldn’t
imagine how he could know, but... he had sounded distracted earlier. Not like
himself.
I'd so
wanted to confess. I really had. I'd tried all day yesterday. I'd tried today
as well but I couldn’t make myself say it. I didn't want to see the look of
disappointment in his eyes, the awful expression on his face that would come
from knowing I'd done something absolutely forbidden.
And… and I
was scared of the punishment, of how bad it would be. And now I’d made it
worse. Not only for me but for him too. For how much more I’d let him down by
not telling him the truth.
I hoped I
could find the nerve to say it now. Maybe I could find a way to explain, though
I wasn't sure I could explain it to myself. What on earth had I done?
I hoped he
would allow me to speak, or I wouldn't be able to say a word, not even to
confess. What would I do then? Wait until he was done with me and then tell
him? Wait until he had used my body, whichever way he chose; wait until he had
given me pleasure which I surely didn't deserve?
Then what?
If I couldn't find the nerve now, if I hadn't found it earlier, what on earth
made me think I would find it then?
I reached
out and lightly traced the pattern of the wood with a finger tip. My hand was
trembling and I slowed my breathing, doing my best to relax.
Then I heard
his voice; such a beautiful deep voice, so calm and gentle. It gave me no clue
to what he was thinking, to what he would do this time.
I took a
deep breath and pushed open the door, closing it quietly behind me; keeping my
eyes lowered the whole time. I clasped my hands behind my back and waited.
"Come
to me," he said.
'Always,' I
thought. 'Whenever you wish it.' I didn't say it, of course. I knew better than
to speak without permission.
I kept my
hands behind my back and walked over to him, my high heels clicking on the hard
wood floor. I dared not look at him, but I so wanted to. Perhaps for
reassurance that he wouldn't hurt me, although I knew he would; perhaps to see
if the gentleness in his voice was there in his eyes; perhaps to search for
something, anything in his expression to tell me what he was thinking.
He lifted a
hand toward my face and I tried not to flinch, but he merely stroked my hair,
twining his fingers through the length of it. I began to relax, leaning my head
into his hand, until he grabbed a handful of hair close to my scalp and pulled
hard, and I couldn't help letting out a small squeak of surprise.
"This
is no time for making such noises," he said, still so calmly, so
controlled, and I bit back the sound, unable to rid myself of the feeling that
this was the calm before the storm.
His fingers
gently covered and closed my eyes, and then I stood quietly while he tied my
hands behind my back. Now I couldn't even see what was coming, and even if I
could, I was helpless to prevent it.
He clamped
his hand firmly over my mouth, stopping even the chance to protest, as his
other hand explored my body, stroking and caressing - over my breasts, across
my hips, between my legs. I blushed as I realised he must know how aroused I
was.
He released
my mouth and inspected my body with both hands, squeezing my breasts and my
bottom, stroking my face, touching between my legs once more. I moaned softly
and he covered my mouth again, muffling any noise I might make.
Was I not to
be allowed even the slightest sound? To have to keep silent no matter what he
might do to me? The thought of his control made me shiver and I swallowed hard,
trying to hold back a sudden rush of desire. I tried to still myself, wondering
if he had noticed.
Of course.
Of course he had. He noticed everything. I wondered if it would make a
difference to what he would do. If it pleased him that I couldn't hide my
reactions or if I would be punished for moving, however slightly?
He stepped
away from me and I waited for what would come...
Buying Links:
The Journal is available from Amazon US UK
Author Bios:
Liv Honeywell:
When not writing about delicious, hot male
dominants and the female subs who love them, I’m usually doing something
craft-like, reading, baking, eating the results of said baking, and attempting
to satisfy the demands of His High and Mighty Dominance (the cat!). My first
story, Imagine, was published with Silver Moon Books last year and Coming,
Ready or Not is my first solo book. The Journal was co-written with Domitri
Xavier.
You can follow me on my blog - http://www.liv-honeywell.com, Twitter
- http://www.twitter.com/LivHoneywell,
Facebook -https://www.facebook.com/LivHoneywellErotica,
Goodreads - http://www.goodreads.com/LivHoneywell and
my Amazon page is here: https://www.amazon.com/author/livhoneywell
Domitri Xavier:
Domitri Xavier comes from a rich heritage,
including Russia France Yorkshire . He is the quintessential English gentleman and lives alone in his
cavernous mansion, Upton Abbey.
Domitri is not only a writer, composer,
pianist, raconteur, wit and poet, he also enjoys a number of hobbies; he breeds
Basset Hounds, plays chess (although he has yet to record a victory) and he is
a renowned collector of used tea bags – Earl Grey, naturally.
He fills his remaining time writing erotic
fiction, much of it based on his own lifestyle at the Abbey.
The Journal is his first book and his poems
have been published on Bitten Press’s website - http://www.akissofpoetry.com/211723089
You can find Domitri on Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/DomitriXavierErotica,
his Facebook friend page is https://www.facebook.com/domitri.xavier,
his blog is http://domitrixavier.wordpress.com,
his Goodreads page is http://www.goodreads.com/DomitriXavier
and his Amazon page is http://amazon.com/author/domitrixavier.
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