The House of Elyot

Music When Soft Voices Die

Posted on: January 2, 2011

2011 has barely had time to brush its teeth and comb its hair and yet I already have a new publication out.

The Choirmaster releases tomorrow at Noble Romance. I’ve been particularly excited about this story finding a home, because it is a special favourite of mine. I adore the characters, love the setting and am passionate about the story – which an editor described as ‘rags to riches with a D/s twist’.

Here is a short excerpt:

“He picked up the flogger and Loveday flinched, drawing in a sharp breath as Matthew caressed the plaited leather handle and the softly knotted strands.

He chuckled, his face lighting with rueful concern. “Oh, don’t worry, Loveday. I’m not going to hurt you. Not today, at any rate.”

Loveday swallowed hard. Not hurt her? So what was with the flogger? Did she believe him? Did she trust him? Yes. Yes, she did.

The realisation flooded over her, letting her muscles unknot and her spine relax. She trusted him. This was a good man, a man who’d been nothing but kind to her, at considerable cost to himself. He had said he would not hurt her—so he would not hurt her.

“I just want to . . . .” He held out the flogger, sliding its buttery suede strings over her breasts, tickling the nipples, making her want to shrink back. But there was nowhere to go. She had to sit there and take the exquisite sensation until it became hard to bear, the softness on her hard nipples torture. She gasped and swivelled her hips left and right, looking anywhere for release, but those tiny pulses of ticklish torment travelled straight to her clit and her pussy, drenching her thighs, making the wood slippery and warm.

“Tease you,” he finished his earlier sentence, taking the handle of the flogger and tracing the outline of her breasts, then bringing it back to the centre and letting it make its leathery trail down over her belly and toward the little triangle of neatly clipped hair that marked her primary pleasure zone. “I like to tease.” He stroked her pussy lips with the trailing ends, the knots catching now and again in her pubic hair. “Might make you shave that,” he said. “Maybe.” Now the wicked little ribbons were on her clit, stimulating it just enough to make her feel like she might die if she didn’t get to come soon, but barely, only just enough; nowhere near hard or firm enough to provide relief. “How does that feel, Loveday?”

“Oh . . . more, sir . . . please,” she moaned, trying to push her bottom forward so she might touch the handle with her swollen, needful clit and get the real, substantial contact she craved.

“More, eh?” He whipped it backward and left her groaning with disappointment, abandoned once more to the feather-light touch of the strands. “You want to come, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Say it.”

“I want to come, sir.”

“I want to see you come, Loveday. I remember how it looks . . . your face, all twisted and confused, and all mine. But not yet.”

Oh,” she whined, but the thought of saying the safe word was far, far away.

He put the whip down for a moment and dropped once more to his knees, putting a hand on each thigh before zooming in closer than before to her widespread pussy, close enough to feel warm breath on her slick labia. She laid her head back on the chair. Please lick me, she prayed, though she felt too shy to ask outright.

Instead, he kissed the soft flesh at the juncture of thigh and bottom cheek, kissing all the way around the perimeter of her burning pussy but never quite venturing over that border. He then repeated the pattern with the tip of his tongue, while Loveday, mindlessly horny and desperate, tried to trick him out of his pre-ordained path by jerking and grinding, hoping to bump him into her soaked centre. He was diabolically accurate, though, and could not be diverted, licking and breathing, round and round, until she began to plead for mercy.

“Please, sir, please let me, please.”

“Let you?” The words drifted around her clit, never touching it.

“Let me come! This is torture! I’m begging you!”

“You’ll come when I decide it’s time, and not before. And any more of that writhing, miss, and I’ll tie you round the waist so you can’t move, at all.”

“God, you’re so evil!”

“I know. All right. Just a minute.”

He stood, depriving her of that longed-for tongue, and took more photographs, all kinds of photographs, before reaching once more for the flogger. Looming over her, he thrust its leather handle between her pussy lips, rolling and grinding it against her clit while he gripped the chair back with his other hand.

The friction sent her straight away into paroxysms of orgasm, shaking and yowling on the chair, wanting to grab the whip and hump it like an animal, but restrained from doing so by the straining cuffs. The climax seemed to go on and on, lights blurring, her whole mind filled with exploding colours, her clit seeming huge while her legs turned to water, bliss ending with one last burst of white light shocking her eyes back open.

It was Matthew’s camera phone, capturing her forever in a distrait, dishevelled, red-faced post-orgasmic mess.

“Ah,” she whimpered, quite undone and on the verge of tears. “God. Oh.” The tears came, and Matthew put his camera away and kissed them from her face, his hands now gentle, his voice warm and reassuring.

“It’s all right, Loveday; it’s all right, you’re safe. I’m with you.”

“It’s okay,” she managed to say. “I’m okay. I’m not upset. But that was . . . powerful. Really mind-blowing. Like nothing else.”

“Well, that’s the draw of the power exchange, I think. It’s intense with someone you don’t care about. With someone you do . . . well. It’s like nothing else. As you say.”

“You care about me?”

“Silly girl. You know I do.”

He uncuffed her, untaped her ankles, and carried her exhausted body into the bedroom.

“One thing that struck me about that,” she said dreamily, lying naked beside her fully clothed master. “There wasn’t much in it for you.”

“I think you’ll find there was,” he said, taking her hand and moving it over the hard bulge in his trousers. “It did quite a lot for me, actually. But if you’re offering to finish off what you started . . . I won’t object.””

Working with Noble Romance has been a highly positive experience from start to finish. They really do live by their motto – ‘Dare to be Different’. The Choirmaster is an unusual erotic romance in that the hero and heroine develop a relationship before they hit the sack. Crazy, I know, but it’s just the way it came to me. I’m delighted this quirk hasn’t held it back.

To finish the post – music. Here is the song Loveday is busking in the Barbican tube station when she meets Matthew. (Dame Kiri’s version cos it’s the one I grew up with.)

1 Response to "Music When Soft Voices Die"

Oh, nice 🙂

What a lovely start to the year.

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