Here’s an excerpt of the first episode of Submission Island, Spanking. It’s a romantic BDSM serial set in the Caribbean. Curvy Cleo arrives at an exclusive resort for the ultra wealthy. Her vacation is a chance to explore her sadomasochistic desires, but a mysterious older man tests her in unexpected ways. She expected kinky, no strings fun, but he makes her want so much more.
A smart, curvy woman who needs to change her life. A mature, defended dom. An island BDSM resort full of secrets.
Beware: Contains detailed BDSM and intimate sex scenes for women and discerning men over 18. Spanking is a character-driven novelette focused on a woman’s pleasure, male dominance, and sadomasochism.
Cleo discovers she can experience the complete fulfillment of her secret desires. She has only to ask.
A joking email from my favorite co-worker leads me to a naughty site. Submission Island offers a free, all-expenses paid vacation at a Caribbean resort for qualified women.
It doesn’t seem likely the exclusive resort would accept a curvy, twenty-eight year-old with limited kinky experience. The application reads like a menu for perversion. I click off the Yes, No, Maybe activities and upload my most appealing lingerie photo. Hell, I need a vacation full of sex with no ties except the ones that get undone after a happy ending.
I’ll roll with what happens without thinking too much so I don’t lose my nerve. This time, I’ll go after having my erotic dreams come true.
I can do this.
Something happens when you face your deepest desires. You change. You can’t turn back.
I think a spanking will be safe.
Excerpt of Spanking:
This is how the book begins, so there are no spoilers.
I just wanted some fun. The breakup with Josh was months behind me, and I missed having someone to excite, someone who appreciated me and got me off until I couldn’t come anymore. I wasn’t thinking of anything too twisted.
I checked out some sites Jen sent me for laughs. She thought I was way naughtier than her because I went to a couple of South of Market SM sex clubs. The note on the third link said, ‘You should go here, Cleo.’
Things weren’t going well at work and Jen was my only friend in this idiotic place. She got me. Maybe because we both had the same kind of crazy-responsible childhoods that left us trying to take care of other people even when it wasn’t necessary—and definitely wasn’t in our own best interests.
The other people at work were like aliens. I couldn’t fathom their motivations for constant pettiness. The manager Stu’s compulsion for meaningless reorganization mystified me. He was the kind of insecure flea sac who got aggressive if anyone dared to ask a question. It frustrated me to have to learn another of his moronic systems every few days only to have to scrap all that and replace it with the next round of nonsense. Perhaps the company was a front for some burned-out druggie’s mind-control experiment.
I amused myself by pretending I was in an old science fiction movie and all the other people except Jen were pod people. It helped me get through the day and reminded me not to waste energy puzzling out the depths of stupid my coworkers attained on a daily basis.
Teaching jobs and other gigs that would be a better fit with my degree in Classics weren’t thick on the ground, so I adopted a strict ‘ignore all stupidity’ policy. Accepting that nothing at this company made any sense got me through the day, and beat heavy drinking as a coping mechanism. Laughing myself sore with Jen after work helped, too.
So, hell, I clicked the third link.
I landed at Submission Island. Oh, fuck, Jen. It’s perverts’ paradise.
Come to Submission Island, an exclusive BDSM club in the Caribbean. Full privacy, photography prohibited on site, confidentiality assured.
The small print caught my eye: Qualifying women vacation for free.
What overworked woman doesn’t want a free Caribbean vacation complete with kinky sex?
I clicked on the application before I could lose my nerve.
They had strict requirements for ID, and the place was strictly legal adults-only, so that was reassuring. Lots of probing questions. Okay. I raced through that. I’d joined naughty dating sites before, I knew the drill. I specified the important stuff: no scars, no modifications, no body wastes, no knives, no needles, no play with any party under the influence of drugs or alcohol, no unsafe sex. Maybe that would disqualify me right there. I had a career and plans for my life. Some guys wanted full ownership, 24-7, including ‘breeding.’ No.
Recent bikini or lingerie photo required. Okay. I scrolled through my pics and chose the most alluring one. It was a shot Josh took of me in a black satin corset and matching thong with lace-top black stockings. The corset and panties laced up the front, revealing a slice of my pale flesh. My sex-mussed hair hung down my back. Other than the lingerie, I wore nothing but my ankle-strap 4-inch black fuck-me shoes, smoky eye makeup, and labial scarlet lipstick. I was bigger than most of the women in the website’s pictures—another possible reason for disqualification.
My favorite salty Classics professors said, ‘Don’t disqualify yourself’ when I bemoaned my odds of getting a merit-based scholarship for my graduate studies. I owed her the rest of my education. Without her nudge, I wouldn’t have tried. I got a scholarship and finished the program. My imagination balked at envisioning Mary’s expression if she ever learned that I used her sage advice to make myself apply to a BDSM club. Still, she was right. If I took myself out of the game because I might get rejected, I didn’t have a shot. Better to take a chance. I sat up straight, faked confidence, and continued. I looked hot in that picture. Things were changing. There were many more plus-size actresses, singers and models countering the restrictive media standards of beauty than when I was a kid. So what if I didn’t look like any of the models displayed on the website? This was worth a shot. I huffed out a breath. I’d apply. If they didn’t want me, fuck ‘em.
Now for the Yes list. I checked:
I checked maybe for several nasty things, because it depended on the guy and the mood. Name calling got me hot with the right words, the right man, the right tone, but if any of that was wrong, it was so wrong. Cold cucumber in a hot pussy wrong. Kissing was a maybe. I let a stranger use a riding crop on me at a party because a friend vouched for him, but I didn’t want his mouth on me. Eroticism and intimacy were so personal. Aside from things that struck me as harmful or revolting, I had an open mind. Still, there were many things that didn’t bother me that didn’t turn me on, either. I had friends who looked delightful in drag, but I didn’t find men in panties arousing.
Give me a masculine man with a sweet smile in a pair of boxer briefs, and I’ll pull them off with my teeth.
Josh got a kick out of dressing me in his briefs and tank top for a scene. There were some hot moments in being his ‘boy’ for the night. But I wasn’t going to Submission Island to fulfill men’s fantasies, I was going to fulfill mine. I left cross-dressing unchecked and applied myself to the kink list.
Asphyxiation. Maybe. I did some breath play with an amazing man, but I sure as hell wouldn’t let just any idiot choke me—it was dangerous. On and on with the site’s list of edgy things, some of which I find secretly delicious, others that are an outright turn-off.
One reason I stopped going to SM clubs in San Francisco was that some games other people find erotic made me not want to be in the same room. I understand that for some people playing out intense scenarios can be cathartic, but I don’t want to listen to them do it. For that reason, I checked off ‘private play only.’ I didn’t want my most secret desires on display, and more than that, I didn’t want to be subjected to other people’s ideas of BDSM. It was a huge and filthy spectrum, from hot as hell to gross-out city. I wanted to be able to choose what I experienced and not have to overhear psychodrama and random abuse scenarios with no context.
The facility description mentioned private rooms and absolute privacy, and went into reassuring detail about general health, STD, and psychological screening.
Despite having some experience with BDSM scenes, sparked by a birthday spanking from Josh, there was a lot I didn’t know.
Medical. Mm. Doctors are hot. I clicked ‘maybe.’
Stuff I never heard of, I left blank. The fetishes went on for more than a page. I liked historical scenarios and many kinds of role play. My spanking boyfriend made a hot gladiator. We once played in ancient Rome for an entire weekend. In the fantasy, a imagined owner bought me and ordered him to break me in. In my role as chattel, I had no power at all, and didn’t speak the language. I had no choice but to surrender to my owner’s powerful gladiator. Those memories still inspired toe-curling orgasms. I just couldn’t stand the word slave because it’s so linked to real horrors and racism. Josh was cool with losing that word. Too bad he wasn’t so smart where it mattered the most.
Anal went on the maybe list. I’d rather be fucked in the pussy any day, that’s what made me come. In the right context, though, getting fucked in the ass was nasty with an edge of debasement that made me come hard later.
The long list of ‘-filias’ looked like a page from Krafft-Ebing, the early sex researcher. I suspected I didn’t want to know the definition of some of those things. I had a good idea of most of them, due to recognizing the root words. My classics studies had some uses in the real world, though during my college years, I hadn’t planned on applying it to perversion. Dacrofilia I recognized, that was getting off on tears. Yeah, I sometimes creamed when a guy made me cry. Like the other maybe items, it had to be the right guy, right mood, right scene.
Hell, when a man hurt me just right, I came like Old Faithful. That was one of my dirty little secrets.
I spread my legs. It was getting hot in here.
Damn it, Jen. I was going to lose my evening to fantasies.
The email ding got me more excited than when the timer went off for cookies. ‘Heart in her throat’ had meaning as I walked to my laptop. I might have been approaching a coiled rattlesnake. What if they rejected me? That would be a blow on top of my non-existent love life. I hadn’t gone out with anyone since Josh.
I had to keep this in perspective. Submission Island probably got lots of applicants. A free, all-expenses paid vacation in the Caribbean with guilt-free, strings-free nasty sex? Are you kidding me? I needed this.
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