Join my mailing list for updates, new release info, offers...
and your Claire Thompson starter library!
and your Claire Thompson starter library!
Kate Alexander scrolled through images of women bound in rope and chain, their faces twisted in ecstasy. Her nipples ached, gooseflesh rising along her arms as she imagined the touch of cold links of chain against her heated flesh, the stinging curl of leather, the shiver of desire. She wanted to experience that for herself, but how?
She blew out a breath and reminded herself to focus. She had a deadline to get this novel written, but somehow the words just weren’t flowing. With very little personal experience to bring to bear, she prayed her internet research would at least jumpstart her imagination.
When her publisher had come to her, offering a contract for a BDSM novel and a sizable advance to go with it, she’d jumped at the chance. Her editor wanted something contemporary, maybe a murder mystery set against the dark backdrop of the BDSM underground leather scene. Or maybe something about a young woman who has always had fantasies about dominance and submission, but never found the right opportunity, or the right man, to make those fantasies come true.
That one should have been easy, and the first section had been a piece of cake. No one would know just how autobiographical it was. But when the plot began to shift into the actual BDSM experience—when she needed to get inside the head and heart of a true submissive, she just didn’t have what she needed to make the story come alive.
Relying on other people’s experience and her own very limited dabbling with BDSM, was not enough. She had started and stopped half a dozen times, occasionally certain she was finally capturing the emotion beneath the plot, only to find herself slamming headlong into a creative brick wall. She lacked the basis, the deeper understanding of her subject matter necessary to make the characters come alive. They remained two-dimensional, as flat on the page as paper dolls.
Kate closed the lid of her laptop and sighed. She needed a break. Instead of heading to the kitchen for a soda, she veered off toward her bedroom. She needed something tactile to jumpstart her imagination.
Reaching for the top shelf of her closet, she felt along the edge for the small velvet bag she hadn’t touched in nearly a year. Retrieving it, she sat on the bed and plucked at the drawstring that held it closed. She drew the small flogger from the bag and dragged the soft tresses of leather over her thigh. She raked her fingers through the tresses to smooth and straighten them against her skin.
“You tricked me, you rat bastard,” she murmured. She had put Victor and what had happened mostly out of her mind, but now the unwelcome memories returned. She’d been thrilled when he’d been the one to bring up the idea of a playful spanking when she’d “been a naughty girl.” Long-held but never revealed sexual fantasies involving rope and chain leaped to life with possibility at his words.
Heart pounding, she’d draped herself over his lap, bare ass tingling as she held her breath. The “punishment” had been underwhelming—just some playful swatting which gave Victor an erection but did little for Kate. Still, it had been a start, and she remained cautiously optimistic things might go further.
He’d taken the hint when she’d placed two hanks of rope at the head of the bed, and said she’d always wondered what it would be like to be tied down during sex. He’d obligingly secured her wrists to the bedposts before climbing on top of her. And while she’d loved the feel of the rope against her skin, and the idea of being restrained, for him it had only been some kinky foreplay—nothing special.
Still, she’d plowed on, determined to show him how exciting and powerful their mutual exploration could be, certain because he’d been the one to initiate the spanking that there was common BDSM ground between them. Here, at last, was a guy who could help her explore her untapped BDSM fantasies.
Except he wasn’t.
She could still see his look of shocked horror when she produced the flogger she’d secretly purchased online. How she’d thrilled to its touch, to its potential, when she removed it from its packaging and smoothed it, as she was doing now, on her thigh.
He’d held up his hands, as if warding off an attack. “Whoa, Kate. What the fuck? I’ve gone along with your little slap and tickle games, but this is way past normal. Are you some kind of pervert? You actually expect me to whip you, or something? That’s just sick.”
And that was it. That was the moment their relationship ended, though they floundered along for a few more half-hearted weeks before they broke up, via text, how pathetic.
In the year since their breakup, she’d dated off and on, but never quite found the courage to admit her secret fantasies to the guys she went out with. Unwilling to take that risk again, she felt trapped between knowing what she wanted and fearing rejection should she voice her needs.
At least her career was going well. Writing under the pen name of Ashley Kendall, Kate had published fourteen erotic romance novels, and had a growing email list of devoted fans. When she was focused, she could write an entire novel in two months, holed up in her apartment, barely coming up for air. When she was in the groove, nothing in this world was so satisfying or all-encompassing.
She lifted the flogger and brought it down across her thigh, the scent of the leather and the sting of the tresses igniting something deep inside. Her first effort at BDSM romance writing was floundering. She had to do something.
“How can I write about something I haven’t experienced? How can I make the story compelling and authentic?” she asked her empty room.
What she needed was direct experience, but where to find it? She’d been reading BDSM-themed blogs and websites and watching videos on the so-called training sites, but without her own hands-on connection, she’d never be able to access the emotions necessary to create something real.
BDSM 101—that was what she needed. Yes, that was it!
Why hadn’t she thought of it sooner? She was only an hour and a half from New York City. Something was always going on there, surely. All she had to do was find the right class and sign up.
Eagerly, Kate returned to her study. She did a search on BDSM events in the area and a whole host of options popped up. She checked a handful of potentially promising venues, only to find they were for members only, or had just taken place the weekend before, or weren’t scheduled for six months. She was just about to give up when something caught her eye.
BDSM Immersion Weekend.
A Friday-Sunday intensive workshop hosted by PowerPlay.
Workshops including the Master/slave Dynamic, Discipline and Correction, Flogging and Whipping from the Basics to the Sublime, The Art of Pain—Giving and Receiving, Sensual Bondage Techniques, and more! Dungeon parties at night. Couples and singles welcome. Space is limited. Email Jacob Presley (MasterPresley@gmail.com) for pricing and other details.
“Yes,” Kate shouted, pumping her fist into the air. It would be perfect—a great way to drink it all in without having to worry about the complications or risks of navigating a new relationship. She could attend the workshop to learn the basics and get a firsthand view of the scene. The dungeon parties she wasn’t so sure about, but she would play that by ear.
Butterflies batted around in her stomach, nerves and excitement colliding. Friday was only two days away. Hopefully it wasn’t too late to sign up. Opening her email account, she typed in Master Presley’s address, dashed off an inquiry and hit send before she could change her mind.
