Read an ExcerptGoing Down
By VONNA HARPER
APHRODISIA BOOKS Copyright © 2008 Vonna Harper
All right reserved.
Chapter One You have one fuckin beautiful bod. What I wouldn't give to rub mine all over yours. Bothered.
Hot, hot, hot! Damn but do you rock. Where the hell do you live? I'd love to take you out-followed by fucking you senseless. Charles.
I dig yur ass an boobs. Thats wut turns me on most. Stu.
Forget her ass and boobs, Stu boy. Look at those eyes. That's a broad what's really into what she does. How about it, Sass? Nutting turns you on like being tied up and whipped by a no nonsense master, right? Lawman.
Tyin her juss the fuckin first act, Lawman. Watch those eyes wen shes climaxing. She dont ever want it to end. Stu.
Hey Sass, I caught your latest at The Dungeon. What a natural submissive. Not damn enough women know their place is at their master's feet, but you do. Watching you squirm and hearing you scream while that dom held a vibrator to your helpless pussy made me cum. If it was me who'd tied you up, I'd never take off the ropes. I'd keep after you until you passed out. Has that ever happened during a shoot or in your real life? Hog.
Stifling a shudder, Saree McKeon sipped on iced tea while contemplating letting the men who'd logged into her Sass In Satin chat room know she was at her computer. She'd expanded her Web site to include the weekly live chats because personally connecting with some of those who paid memberships to The Dungeon, where she worked, was the least she could do to thank them for making her one of the successful site's most popular bondage models. Now, after two months of come-ons, occasional filth, and most erroneous, the belief that she truly embraced the submissive lifestyle, she wished she hadn't.
Lawman and Stu, who'd been there almost from the beginning, spent most of their time arguing with each other. Stu's fractured spelling sometimes defied comprehension, and she couldn't help but feel sorry for him. She didn't remember hearing from a Bothered, Charles, or Hog before. Maybe she should acknowledge their comments, especially Hog's, but doing so always left her feeling dirty and uneasy. A few times before she'd caught on, she'd engaged in text conversations with seemingly normal men only to discover they were perverts. Thank goodness for the anonymity of the Internet and her alter ego. Because she'd called herself Sass from the moment she'd signed with The Dungeon, she hoped none of the men in her so-called fan club had any inkling who she really was and that she lived in an average-looking house in a middle-class neighborhood a good hour's drive from where The Dungeon's studios were located. These days she kept her comments generic so, hopefully, none of her fans would think she was coming on to them. Yuck!
As for straightening out Hog and others about her lack of interest in the BDSM lifestyle beyond the role playing she did on a regular and well-paid basis for the camera, forget it. Let them believe she spent her life naked, wearing a collar, and spreading her legs for her master. Only she needed to know she was currently dressed in a shapeless old cotton shirt, too-big shorts, and mismatched socks instead of the corset and fishnet stockings she'd poured herself into earlier for today's session.
Greetings, she typed. You know what they say about women always being late. Sorry to be the last to show up, but it's been a crazy day. What is it with modern cars? You'd think they could at least narrow it down when the "check engine" light comes on. Come to think of it, it's probably a conspiracy between the automakers and the mechanics' union designed to fleece car owners. Suffice it to say, I'm running around in a rental until whatever work needs doing on mine is done. I hope everyone's comfortable.
She'd still been typing when Hog started doing the same.
Let me take care of that for you, Sass. Once you're in my chains and cage, you'll never have to worry about anything again. Except satisfying me, that is. I'm not an easy master. It takes a lot to please me, and you're not always going to like the lessons.
What would she want with you? Sass can have her pick of men, can't you, beautiful? Lawman.
In contrast to Hog's crude comments, Lawman had a sickeningly sweet way of sucking up to her. Keeping to her self-imposed guidelines regarding any kind of personal involvement, she refused to respond. Instead she wrote, If the counter is right, there are over two hundred of us logged in right now. That's amazing. Obviously we're not all going to be able to talk at once, and since I'm paying for the chat room, I'm going to call the shots. Because this site is linked to The Dungeon, I'm assuming that's how all of you found me. I want to take a minute to let you know what's coming up there. An awesome new set is going to be revealed next week, and we have a couple of guest riggers coming in. I'm going to be working with one of them, and that should be exciting.
Although several men-at least she assumed they were men-started typing, she kept going, touching on soon-to-be-implemented technical improvements in the video delivery. Because she didn't understand how the video from the handheld cameras used during shoots wound up being posted on the Internet, she relied on what she'd been told when she assured her fans that updating their systems to display even clearer images was a simple and safe matter.
It's amazing what it takes for The Dungeon to be the professional endeavor it is, and of course none of that would happen if not for you, the members, who pay the bills. Everyone associated with The Dungeon has his or her own specialized role but somehow it all comes together. And very well, don't you think?
Yours is the only role I care about. Yours and the other bondage sluts. Only, don't tell me it's a role. No way can you be acting when you climax. Hog.
Damn it, she knew better than to bite. Just the same, her fingers raced over the keys. This has been discussed here several times, Hog. Of course members want and deserve to know whether they're viewing the real thing or Academy Award-quality acting. I assure you, whatever the camera shows me and the other models experiencing, we aren't pretending. Sexual response is, after all, engrained in most of us.
Knew it. You sluts really get off on being dominated? A real dom-not those homos pretending to be into BDSM-would have you licking his cock in gratitude. That's what you do in your private life, right? No way you can have so damn much fun on camera and not want to surrender yourself. Got a master? Because if you don't, I'm applying for the job. Hell, maybe I'll just kidnap you and keep you in my basement. Hog.
When setting up her chats, she'd been assured that she could permanently block certain people from participating. One more crude comment from Hog and he'd be added to the list. However, she was still trying to come up with a sharp and civilized reply when someone identifying himself as Reeve beat her to the punch. Clean up your language. Sass has gone to a lot of effort and is giving her time to connect with her fans. She's a lady, got it. A lady.
The hell she is. This is one hot bitch ruled by her cunt, aren't you, Sass? Hog.
You don't know me, she couldn't help but reply. You think the me you see on your screen is as far as it goes, but you're dead wrong.
What u sayin? U cant be pretending to-Stu.
Those orgasms can't be faked, Reeve typed. But there's more to the lady than the way she earns a living. For all we know she's a lesbian.
Although she wanted to ensure Reeve that not only didn't she have any lesbian tendencies, she had never participated in a woman-on-woman shoot, she held back. Did loudly protesting ever convince anyone of anything?
No response, Sass? Reeve.
Oh I have one, all right. I'm just not sure you'd believe it.
Give me a try.
This was different. Most men either fawned all over her trying to gain whatever they thought they'd gain-not that they'd ever get to first base-or tried to pull the macho male act. Instead Reeve, or whomever he was, wanted to banter, which was a refreshing change. Fine. Here's the unvarnished truth, at least a bit of it. The me you see at The Dungeon is an employee doing her job. Yes, I love what I do, but when everything else is stripped away, being a bondage model pays the bills, end of discussion.
Even as she leaned back and studied the words, she couldn't believe she'd laid herself out like that. From the rapid-fire responses coming in, most of the men had missed the point and were arguing over which of them would get the privilege of stripping her and what they'd do once the last article of clothing was gone. Hog's suggestions were particularly vulgar, while Stu either didn't get it or didn't have the necessary vocabulary to express himself. She couldn't help but notice that Reeve hadn't chimed in.
From that, the conversation made a right turn to which other Dungeon models turned them on the most. Then, strangely enough, they started debating what might be wrong with her car. She left her computer long enough to pour herself another glass of tea and check her answering machine. Her sister, Hayley, and the man in Hayley's life were going to be gone this weekend and, since it was going to be hot, would Saree mind watering the plants on the front porch. By the time she'd finished playing telephone tag with Hayley, the hour-long chat was drawing to a close.
Not bothering to catch up on the conversation, she typed, Sorry to be the one to tell you this, but the powers that be are going to pull the plug on us. I probably don't have to tell you this because you've seen the promo, but I'm going to be featured on this week's update. I worked with my favorite rigger, and if I do say so myself, it turned out very well indeed. At least I was satisfied with a capital S.
You're talking about the beefcake who wears that lame Lone Ranger mask, aren't you? Much as I hate to admit it, there's good chemistry between you. The two of you play in private? Maybe more than play? He your master? Hog.
No man's my master! Not going to happen, ever! Why don't you take a poll. Ask the others what they think.
But will you tell us whether we're right? Hog.
Good question. The answer is, no. Bottom line, it isn't any of your business.
Maybe, maybe not. We see you naked. More than that, we're given up-close-and-personal shots of every inch of your incredible body. You're alive and real, a great smile and huge eyes. Remember, the eyes are the window to the soul. I look into them and it's as if I can hear your heart beat. I know what makes you laugh and cry. Can you blame me for seeing you as more than just some face and body on the screen? Reeve.
For some reason she couldn't quite fathom, it was as if Reeve had reached beyond the Internet and was standing a few feet away waiting for an answer, an honest answer. You've made another good point. Let me think about your comments and get back to you.
I'll be waiting.
Although the chat had ended the better part of an hour ago, Saree continued to feel surrounded by it. There wasn't anything that mysterious about aftereffects, was there? After all, as Reeve had said, thanks to modern computers she'd been connecting with countless strangers, mostly sharing tidbits about her life but also theirs. She'd been called a bitch, propositioned, and if she read Stu right, proposed to. Hog had blown it; the next time he tried to sign on, he'd learn that he'd been blacklisted.
As for Reeve-
That's what had her feeling surrounded.
Now that she'd had a shower followed by the sandwich that passed for dinner, she had a better handle on things, at least she believed she'd pinpointed what was different about the short exchange with Reeve. Yes, she was relatively new to this chat business, but so far he'd been the only man to touch on issues that went beyond skin deep. He'd acknowledged that there just might be something between her ears.
Might be hardly said it, she acknowledged as she sat back down in front of her computer. As an example, the past two weeks had been particularly unsettling. Oh, work was churning at its usual frantically fun pace with some much-appreciated overtime coming up thanks to a scheduled extensive shoot involving her and three other models at a private estate. If Amber Green hadn't dropped off the face of the earth around the first of the month, they'd be in the middle of filming. Unfortunately, the usually dependable and D-cup Amber had stopped answering her phone. When one of The Dungeon's directors contacted her landlord, the landlord had informed him that he'd gotten a call from Amber's father saying there'd been a family emergency and he didn't know how long she'd be gone.
Saree had worked with Amber a few times, and they had gone out for drinks, during which they'd determined that, except for loving sex, they didn't have a lot in common. For one thing, Amber was seriously into BDSM and spent much of her free time participating in the scene. Just the same, Saree agreed with the others who said it wasn't like Amber not to keep in touch with her employer.
So where was she?
Speculation was that she'd found the master she'd joked she was looking for, but although Saree had laughed along with the others, something didn't strike her as right.
Not entirely successful in relegating the MIA Amber to the back of her mind, Saree logged into the mailbox set up to receive e-mail from those who'd visited her Web site. There were some fifty messages, maybe a third of them offering her everything from stock tips to penile enlargement products. The rest were legit, although that was a relative term given the content. What was it with some people! When it came to the anonymity of the Internet, nothing was sacred. Were these blatantly pornographic messages written at work or maybe at home with a wife and children in another room?
And yet, much as she itched to immediately delete those with such headings as "Waiting to fuck you," "Screw king," and "Bite your lips," she didn't dare forget that many had memberships at The Dungeon and thus were responsible for her income.
Thanks for getting in touch, she wrote over and over again. And although she wanted to tell them to go to hell, she didn't.
Fortunately, not every message made her feel like throwing up. There were a lot of lonely men out there, horny college students, even respectful voyeurs, if there was such a thing. She didn't forget for a minute that she had no way of knowing what lay beneath a man's surface. He might come across as the most trustworthy gentleman, but she'd never risk her safety and maybe her life by agreeing to meet him.
Better to limit herself to dating those she met in the normal course of her life, not that that often happened.
Well hell, such were the consequences of her unusual career.
Reminding herself that her job had made it possible for her to buy her own home while still in her twenties, she was about to log out when a new message came in. The sender's name stopped her: Reeve.
Just wanted to follow up on what we touched on earlier. I mentioned that being allowed into your sexual world makes people like me feel as if we know you, but that's wrong. Just because we go to movies and see close-ups of an actress's lips doesn't mean we've kissed those lips or know what she does at the end of the day. Your privacy has to be vital to you. In contrast to the very public nature of the way you earn a living, I'm sure you separate your public life from what takes place off-screen. Let me take a flier at this, a mental and creative exercise for lack of a better term. When the cameras are off, you remove your false fingernails and climb into the shower where you soap away the marks left by ropes and whips. Then you put on a coffee-stained old shirt and ratty tennis shoes. You get into a gas-guzzling SUV and head for a crowded freeway where you fantasize about running over some of the idiots on it. You'd love to take out that cheap broad in the beater who's smoking while her kids are in the backseat. Home is a luxury condo with a state-of-the-art security system and watchmen who tell you about their grandchildren and whom you bake cookies for. Your furnishings are sleek and modern with speakers that can rock the whole building. Your closet is the size of most people's living rooms, and you have a white, long-haired cat that barely tolerates you. As for men, hmm, I'm drawing a blank there, so I'll draw on my imagination. The complex's pool man isn't called ever-ready for nothing, and even the security grandpa is good for an occasional round. The gay couple next door would change sexual orientation if you'd give them a nod, but you're no homewrecker. You nearly got married to the quarterback, in college-you majored in physics with a minor in underwater basketweaving-but you caught him behind the goalpost with the mascot and shoved his engagement ring up his nose. Am I close in any of this?
Excerpted from Going Down by VONNA HARPER Copyright © 2008 by Vonna Harper. Excerpted by permission.
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