Submission

When the Berks Hills Summer Playhouse offered me my first real acting job, I never expected to share a stage with theater legend Geoffrey Hart – let alone his bed. Nothing in my education or experience prepared me for the paradoxical pleasures of submission.

Now I’m devoted to my master, for better or worse. According to the rumors, though, Geoff’s heart is taken. Dumped by his long-time sub, he has escaped to the Berkshires to lick his emotional wounds. Geoffrey’s dark games arouse me beyond belief, but I fear I’m just a substitute for the real object of his affections. Am I willing to settle for the role of understudy in this perverse passion play?

Note: This book was previously published by Totally Bound. It has been revised, expanded and re-edited for this release.

Buy Links

Kinky Literature – https://www.kinkyliterature.com/book/4427-the-understudy-acts-of-submission/

Amazon  US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B092VYT8DN

Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.th/dp/B092VYT8DN

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Add on Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/57802100-the-understudy

X-rated Excerpt

I realized the spanking had stopped. I craned my neck to look back at him. His radiant smile burned away the remains of my trance, though I still felt oddly relaxed. Delicate fingers wiped the tears from my cheeks.

“Yes, sir. I’m fine. Thank you, sir.”

Geoffrey’s laugh was full and genuine, without a trace of ridicule. “Very good, little one! I’m proud of you for taking your punishment so well.”

I glowed. He helped me to stand. As I wriggled my way out of his lap, I felt the hard bulk in his groin. He wanted me! Mousy inexperienced little Sarah Gladstone! My lust flooded back in a molten tide. More than anything—at that moment, even more than my own success—I wanted to feel that solid cock inside me.

“I think you’ve earned a reward,” he commented. “Arms up.”

I obeyed without thinking. He dragged my shirt over my head and tossed it on the chair.

“Turn around.” In an instant my skirt was unzipped and puddling around my ankles.

He paced a slow circle around my naked body. “Very nice,” he murmured. “Very nice indeed.”

My nipples peaked and my juices trickled down the inside of my thighs. I didn’t blush, though. I was beyond modesty.

“Your ass is the color of Maine lobster,” he chuckled. “Does it hurt?”

“Some.” In truth, it felt hot and sore, pulsing like some scarlet lighthouse. Each pang, though, woke echoes in my cunt that balanced the pain.

Geoffrey continued to survey his handiwork, close enough that I could feel the heat from his body, but he didn’t make contact with my hungry skin. Touch me, please! I felt like screaming. But already I knew enough to remain silent.

“I expect that from now on you will be on time.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll try.” Please, please, please—the mantra rang in my mind. But I knew he was once again teaching me patience.

Suddenly he scooped me up in his arms, carried me into the other room and settled me on the bed. I hardly had a moment to appreciate his strength before he released me. I moaned in disappointment.

“Hush! I’ll be with you shortly.” He began to unbutton his shirt.

I watched, holding my breath, as he revealed a muscled chest and flat belly scattered with black curls. Next he unbuckled his belt. It whooshed as he drew it out of his belt loops. From out of nowhere came the thought of that belt laying stinging trails of pain across my bottom.

He heard my gasp and grinned at me. “Not tonight, sweet. Your ass already looks like raw hamburger.” He unzipped his trousers and pushed them down over his lean hips. His cock arched up from his groin, straining toward the ceiling.

Oh, God! Saliva gathered in my mouth. I stared at the fat rod of flesh bobbing up and down each time he moved. I was dying to run my tongue along the veined shaft and across the rosy bulb. He came to stand beside the bed, that sumptuous cock inches from my fingers. I wanted to grab him, squeeze him, stroke him until he showered me with his sticky jism. His eyes stopped me.

“Don’t forget, girl. I’m in charge here.”

“Yes, sir. I know.”

“Good. Now put your hands over your head and grab hold of the bars.” The headboard of the colonial style maple bed featured ranks of vertical wooden spindles.

“Are you going to tie me up?” I couldn’t believe what I was saying. Everything was happening so fast. I was driving on the freeway without brakes, my own perverse desires looming up and rushing by as I sped along.

I knew he read the naked desire in my face. He chose not to mock me.

“No. I want to see if you can be still, without being bound. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes,” I whispered, wondering if I really could.

“Tonight I just want to use you, to fuck you. To see just what kind of a slut you are.”

He climbed on the bed and nudged my thighs apart with his own. His cock gleamed like a rod of steel. He rubbed the knob back and forth in the slick groove of my pussy. I arched and ground myself against him, the movements waking echoes of his spanking.

“No!” He clamped his nails around my nipple.

“Ow!”

“I want you to lie still, as if you were bound, or drugged. No squirming around. No trying to come. You’ll come, I promise—I said you deserved a reward—but only when I want you to do so. Do you agree?”

Strange emotion welled up, tightening my chest. I could only nod.

“Trust me, little one. I won’t hurt you. Well, not much. Not more than you can bear. In return, I’ll lead you into a whole new world of pleasure.”

I gripped the wooden bars, watching him smooth a condom over the rampant length of that gorgeous cock. My pussy twitched and wept. I wanted him so badly I was ready to cry. Even more, though, I wanted to show him that I could obey.

About Lisabet

Lisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – over one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, GLBT, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads, Pinterest, BookBub, BingeBooks and Twitter.

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