Yes Ma'am

Xcite Books Ltd

Heat Rating: Scorching
Word Count: 18,500
1 Ratings (3.0)

A collection of six arse-spanking, wrist-binding, whip-wielding tales of female domination,

Lying in Wait

Cadet Luke Porter is the least successful army recruit in the squadron. The butt of his comrade’s jokes, his reputation badly needs improving, and he is desperate to do well in the ‘seek and rescue’ exercise he’s about to embark upon. Some of his female counterparts, however, have other plans, and are determined to find out just how far Luke will go to improve his standing within the regiment.


He is intoxicated by the woman in black. He can’t explain why he needs to see her, why he willingly does precisely what she tells him to do, or why she has such an effect on him, as she sits him in the backroom of a private club and weaves her web of control. He is beginning to think he has sold his soul to the devil herself.

Dear Claire

Ali has secretly lusted over Rick, her best friend’s lover, for a long time. At least she thought it was a secret. When her friend, Claire, asks her to take coffee into Rick as he lies in bed, it appears that Claire has left Ali a gift wrapped present; her boyfriend, shackled, blindfold and helpless. Amazed by Claire’s generosity, Ali doesn’t know where to start, until she sees the neat sentence tattooed on Rick’s arse, “If I don’t obey my mistress, I will be punished.”

‘Don’t You, Emma?’

In a delicious corruption of Lee’s longed for fantasy, his lover, Daisy, arranges for them to share another woman. Rather than enjoying a full-on threesome, however, Lee finds himself forced to sit and observe his partner perform all the chastisements she normally saves just for him upon a girl called Emma. A girl, it seems, who can withstand the punishments Daisy dishes out with far more self control than Lee has ever managed. Simply sitting in an armchair has never been so difficult.

Not Taking the Tube

Venting his frustration on the nearest official, at being delayed yet again by London’s Underground system, the harassed businessman finds his complaints aren’t received in quite the way he’d expected. The petite guard upon whom he directs his anger has just about had enough of the constant string of complaints from the commuters she tries to help. Swiftly turning the tables on her latest assailant, she releases her own pent up anger quickly, sexily, and with the expert use of her surprised companion’s black leather belt.

Rachel’s Twisted Tale

Imprisoned in a bare room, high at the top of an old house, totally naked – her long golden plait wrapped around her body – Rachel waits. She waits for her mistress gaoler to punish her for being perfect. She waits for Tom, her secret lover, to climb in through the window and fuck her senseless. Rachel knows he could free her. He could help her escape the agonies and humiliations she endures, but she doesn’t want to be saved. Rachel needs to stay. Rapunzel never suffered like this.

Yes Ma'am
1 Ratings (3.0)

Yes Ma'am

Xcite Books Ltd

Heat Rating: Scorching
Word Count: 18,500
1 Ratings (3.0)
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The cracked voice bellowed with passion across the crowded railway station. ‘You’re selling your souls to the devil!’ Waving his placard in the air, his disconcertingly sharp blue eyes positively shone with religious fervour. ‘And you won’t even realise you’ve signed the contract until it’s too late.’

I kept moving, pushed along in the hustle of people rushing to work, but the man’s words stayed with me.

He was right. I’m sure he was right. There isn’t a religious bone in my body, but I’m sure there are devils. I know because I sacrificed my soul three months ago, and there’s nothing I can do about it. What frightens me most is that I don’t want to do anything about it.

We met on a train. Her eyes were so dark, and so intense that I couldn’t help but peer into them, trying to determine what colour they actually were. Not green, but then not really brown or blue. They were brilliantly clear and wide. Possibly they were grey. I swear she didn’t blink.

There was no way she could have missed me staring at her. Even if I hadn’t been making it blatantly obvious.

Everything about her was jet black. Not dyed. Not touched with grey, but a cascade of undiluted black that coated her shoulders. I didn’t know it then, but black was to be the overriding theme of the time I spent with her.

There was no doubt that she was the most beautiful woman on that train. The most beautiful woman anywhere. Confident and at ease with my appearance or not, I knew I was pushing my luck when I asked her for a date.

You can imagine my amazement when she took my phone number, smiling at me as if I was the most desirable man in the world. A smile that made my pulse hammer and my cock twitch.

As you can see, although I’ve been told I’m not unattractive, I’m only average height, average build, and – well – average. So why did that goddess take my number? Like the idiot I was I believed she was won over by my charm, by my chatter, by my smile. I know different now. The real reason was that she could see into my soul. To her I am transparent. Black could see into my soul; see what I needed, long before I saw that I needed it myself.

We arranged to meet the next evening outside a small exclusive club, hidden away on the back streets of the city. I’d heard of it, but still hadn’t really believed in its existence until I was being led through its main doors.

Taking my hand, her black polished nails were abrasive as they dug into my skin. I allowed myself to be taken into the semi-lit interior. I didn’t look about me. I have no idea of the colour scheme, of how many clients sat at the bar or on the sofas sprinkled about the wooden floor as we weaved through them.

All I saw was the long legs, clad in satin black trousers, feet that somehow walked in heels that surely would have crippled a mortal woman, and hips that swayed with rather more emphasis than was technically necessary.

My gaze didn’t rise above her arse, and somehow I knew that was how it was supposed to be. I’d never been submissive to anyone – ever – yet in that place, well, I just knew that was how it was.

That was the beginning – the moment I saw it all. I was afraid, not of what was to come, but of how I might cope with it.

The room she led me into was small. It contained nothing but a set of highly polished wooden shelves, upon which sat a collection of black treasure-chest shaped boxes, a wooden spindle backed chair and a row of coat hooks. That was all.

A light sheen of perspiration always coats my flesh when she’s near. Even now, three months down the line, as I talk to you in the safety of this room, I can feel goosebumps spreading across my back and sweat dotting my neck; not to mention the fact that my cock is stirring. I hope that doesn’t bother you – I can’t help it. She controls me, you see. I could wank right now, just after telling you so little, except I won’t, because I haven’t got permission. It isn’t worth me disobeying her.

You are wondering how she would know? Trust me, she’d know. She always knows. The woman in black knows every forbidden thought I have.

I digress. She didn’t say anything. She rarely speaks, but simply gestures and insinuates, and somehow I know what I must do. It is as if she’s bypassed my hearing and can send messages direct to my groin.

She pointed to the chair, and I sat. Her thin eyebrows rose, and I quickly stood up again. I’d got it wrong. I was supposed to strip first. My hands shook and a feeling of panic took hold of me. What if I was wrong? I could be making such a fool of myself. I paused, my hand on the top button of my shirt.

A brief flicker of her eyes and my interpretation of events was confirmed as correct. I undid my shirt, hanging it onto the hook she pointed at. Black’s head tilted towards my trousers, and my jeans, shoes and socks came off.

Never have I felt so naked. Even though I stood there, next to the chair, my underwear still in place, I felt as if I was being examined; like I was being weighed up to see if I met her specifications.

Another nod and with a racing pulse I lost the boxers and sat on the chair. The fully dressed woman towered above me in her impossible heels, a look of calculated amusement on her feline face.

It wasn’t cold in the room, but I shivered anyway as her eyes bored into me. Then, after an agony of waiting, she turned to the shelves and with her back to me opened the smallest of the black boxes. I could see her arm moving, as her hand rummaged around inside, but I couldn’t see what she was searching for or what she eventually pulled out and slipped into her trouser pocket.

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