Daughter of the Sands is a new Femdom novel by "Wheldrake" that I've just finished editing and is now available as an e-book.
Here's an extract that I hope you'll all enjoy:
Now that she had her boy behind closed doors, she could enjoy him at her leisure. Perhaps she surprised Bakhos by embracing him with ladylike delicacy and treating him to a light, unhurried kiss that contained no trace of the fierce urgency he would remember from the elevator. She drew back, keeping a grip on his shoulders, and looked at him seriously. His short, spiky hair and open-necked dress shirt were all too typical of the young corporate men who had been crowding the dance club, but he had a trim, compact body and there was still a very obvious bulge in the front of his slacks. He would be perfectly acceptable, assuming he could take what she intended to give him. The main thing, she knew from bitter experience, was not to rush him.
“Tell me why you came up here,” she said quietly.
He gave her a puzzled smile. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Tell me anyway, you delightful boy.”
“I came up here to fuck a beautiful woman.” Inspiration seemed to strike him. “To give you pleasure.”
“Precisely what I was hoping you’d say. It would give me a lot of pleasure if you would take your shirt off, Bakhos. Now.”
He looked at her and swallowed, lips parted, eyes with that melting look of deepened arousal. Yes, he liked being desired; he liked being told what to do by a woman who obviously knew what she wanted from him. He began to undo his buttons with deft fingers, his gaze never leaving her face.
Linden leaned casually against the wall and watched her as the vista of his smooth, pale brown skin was revealed to her. He had only a light scattering of hair on his chest, and his nipples were small and dark and very pretty. He dropped the shirt untidily to the floor and stepped hesitantly towards Linden as if he were uncertain whether or not to approach her. He reached with tentative hands for the buttons of her top, a white sleeveless one that suited the weather provided she remembered to put on plenty of sunscreen.
She grabbed his wrists, smiling at his startled expression, and she pushed him back towards the bed.
“In good time, Bakhos.” She loved saying his name, with that throaty Arabic guttural in the middle. “Right now I want you over here.”
He allowed Linden to stretch him out on the yielding softness of the unnecessarily enormous bed they had given her, and to draw his arms up above his head. She leaned down, kneeling beside him as if she were stooping over prey, and she gave him a long, insistent kiss.
“Have you ever been fucked by a white woman before, Bakhos?”
“Yes, plenty,” he replied with admirable honesty. “But never one like you.” His accent was music to her ears.
“You’re going to like it, I promise. You’re going to like pleasing me.” She brought her face close to his. “You’re going to like obeying me.”
“What do you mean?” he panted.
“You’ll see. Let me get something. You stay right there.” She slid away from him, noticing with a small thrill of satisfaction that he kept his arms above his head as he watched her with curious, lustful eyes. In the bottom of her closet was small bag of white cloth, one that she had buried in the bottom of her suitcase when she came over from Boston. Linden brought the bag over to the bed but placed it on the floor, out of Bakhos’ line of sight. She unzipped it and fished out a pair of soft leather cuffs connected by a short steel chain.
“You’ve been handcuffed before, haven’t you, Bakhos?”
He laughed nervously. “Only by the police. It was a misunderstanding.”
“I’m sure it was.” She reached for his wrist, but he moved it away.
“You aren’t going to do anything crazy, are you?”
She met his eyes. “No, I’m not going to do anything crazy,” she told him. “I promise. I just want to cuff you, strip you, play with you a little, and then fuck you.”
“Play with me?” Bakhos almost gasped. She reached out and pinched one of his nipples between her fingertips, hard enough to hurt just a little.
“Mother of God.” Bakhos closed his eyes and moved his hands up a bit closer to the brass bars at the head of Linden’s bed. It was exactly the kind of small, submissive gesture that was guaranteed to make her boil over, not that she had been too far from the boiling point in any case. She snatched his wrist and buckled the leather around it, reminding herself not to pull it too tight. She passed the chain behind two bars of the bed and then cuffed his other wrist, forcing his hands into a position that would become just slightly uncomfortable after a few minutes. Still, the leather was pliable, and she could leave him like that for a good long time if she wanted to.
“There, got you,” Linden purred, caressing his shoulders and chest with firm, possessive hands. Bakhos opened his eyes and gave a small moan. He pulled experimentally against the cuffs and found himself perfectly helpless. Linden’s smile widened. Yes, her Bakhos had been a good choice, a wonderful random catch on a hot night in Beirut. She was going to tease him, and hurt him a little, and fuck his brains out. Accepting the invitation to fly up to Lebanon had obviously been the best decision of her life.
She was a resourceful woman, which was fortunate because the space available in her small white bag was strictly limited. Blindfolding him was an option, because the hotel had provided her with a sleeping mask, but after a moment’s consideration she chose not to deprive him of his sight. The lines of fearful anticipation around the mouth of a blinded submissive could be delicious, but Linden also enjoyed the frustration that boys seemed to feel when they could look at her body but not touch. The bag contained her Wartenberg wheel, a leather harness for his cock and balls, and a few small clamps and metal clothespins that she could use to diabolical effect on several different parts of his anatomy, but those could wait until she had stripped him and softened him up a little. There were a couple of other implements as well, harsher and entirely more frightening things, but she might not get to those at all. Bakhos had never been through this before, and it was important not to get carried away. She would be gentle, or at least as gentle as she ever was with her boys.
For the moment, it was time to tease. Linden stood back from the bed and allowed herself a wide, almost triumphant smile as she unbuttoned her top and slid it back from her shoulders. Bakhos squirmed in his cuffs and actually lifted his head for a better viewing angle. The poor boy was practically drooling with helpless lust, and his tented crotch was like the peak of a volcano. Linden took off her pants and then unhooked her bra, laughing at him, flaunting her body. Her physique had always been firm and muscular, even statuesque, and at forty-three years of age the lines of her limbs and torso were only a little softer than they had been two decades earlier. Her breasts were large, a bit too large if anything, and still firm. The long waves of her red hair, unbound, made a fiery curtain around her lightly freckled shoulders. Linden knew that she was beautiful, just as she knew that she lived in Cambridge, Massachusetts and had O-negative blood. She also knew how to deploy her beauty strategically in the only game she really liked to play. Her body was a tool of seduction, and a tool of sadism. She could torture men with her nudity as surely as she could torture them with clamps and whips and rattan canes.
Linden peeled off her panties, revealing a triangle of pubic hair that was exactly the same pyrotechnic colour as the hair on her head. Bakhos stared, and she found it impossible to blame him. Red pubic hair was probably the height of exoticism for a man who was used to the dark girls of the Mediterranean. Linden moved in on him slowly, letting him stew in the anticipation of watching her approach. She climbed on top of him and kissed his neck, allowing her breasts to graze his bare, flat chest.
“Linden… please…”
It was, she realised, the first time he had used her name since they had entered the hotel. She smiled down at her supplicant.
“Please what?”
“Please touch me. Or I’ll fucking die.”
She gave him a very light slap across the face. “Touch you like this?” Her fingers returned to his nipple, and pinched a bit harder than that first time, letting her nails dig in a little. “Or maybe like this?” He gave a little groan. Her point made, Linden knelt between his legs, slowly unfastened his trousers, and then dragged trousers and underwear down his legs and off in one smooth motion. His cock was ramrod-stiff and already slick with its own secretions, the circumcised head swelling like a purple plum. She drew her finger lightly along the shaft, both caressing and scratching, and then stretched out on him again and ground her own crotch into his, sliding her labia across his cock and balls but not allowing him inside. Not yet. The pressure of his erection against her vulva was like a thunderbolt shooting up into her belly, and she gave a ragged gasp of passion.
She pressed her lips to his chest and shoulders and neck, not so much kissing him as tasting his skin and feeling it with her mouth. The clean warmth of his captive body was intoxicating. He writhed and bucked, trying to press against her, and her open palm descended hard on his thigh.
“Hold still,” she said harshly.
Obviously intimidated, he complied as best he could, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Her lips resumed their explorations, and her hands prowled like twin panthers across the gloriously accessible terrain of his chest and belly and thighs. She cupped his balls in her right palm and played with them roughly, letting her nails dig in enough to hurt him a little. He whimpered and tried to twist away from her, earning another hard slap. She favoured him with a predatory smile as he mastered himself and lay still. He even spread his legs a little wider, opening himself to her.
“Good boy,” Linden murmured, and grabbed his cock. She slid her hand up and down the shaft, her grip firm enough to give him a rush of pleasure, but not so forceful as to inflict pain. “You see?” she told him. “I know how to reward you when you behave yourself. But don’t think you’re going to escape suffering for me entirely. Are you ready to suffer a little, Bakhos?” Her voice had become a throaty growl.
“I thought I was suffering,” he replied with a nervous smile. “Just then when you pinched me between the legs.”
“Oh, that was only the beginning. The merest taste of what I have planned for you.”
Daughter of the Sands
