Where did Trip My Switch came from? I have no clue. The story suddenly popped into my head, grabbed on and wouldn’t let go. All my other projects took a backseat. The words just flowed, and I went into that coveted writer space where you can’t get the words on to paper fast enough. It was really cool!
Trip My Switch is an edgy m/m/f BDSM ménage written in the first person perspective of the hero. More than pushing boundaries, it totally pushed me as an author, taking me to places I never even imagined existed inside me. There are a lot of insane toys I discovered and teased the characters with in this book. It’s not big on romance and is more of an erotica story.
I’ve submitted it to one of my publishers, and I’m waiting to hear if it will be contracted. Please, share your opinions! What do you think? Intrigued to read more? Like the concept? Hate it? I’m anxious to hear your thoughts since it’s such a departure from my norm.
This has not been edited so please excuse my typos!
*Note: This material is intended for those readers 18 years old or older.*
My ex-lover introduced me to the seductive world of BDSM and unleashed a hunger which gnaws at my soul. He insisted I was submissive, but unable to master my raging desires, he left me hanging on the edge.
Submission, dominance—I love it all, but I'm not too sure where I fit in. And what on earth was I thinking when I applied for the position of sex slave for a night?
The sexual extremities got me searching my soul and yearning for extra time with my anonymous Doms. Too bad I signed a contract limiting the wild fun and games to one night. I crave so much more—restraints, blindfolds, inventive toys. Bring it on!
“We have a treat planned for you, Bas…”
What the hell. He kept cutting himself off in the middle of speaking. I didn’t get it, but was distracted by the sound of a heavy object being moved.
“Your Domme is bringing over a little invention which I lovingly handcrafted in my workshop. It’s quite the marvel of modern mechanics, if I do say so myself.”
“Mmm…I can attest to it being absolutely fabulous,” my Mistress purred. Whatever it was must not be harmful since she’d survived it. My curiosity peaked.
My Dom moved in close to my side and leaned forward. I detected a devilish glee in his next words.
“While my machine fucks your ass, you’ll be sucking my cock and our Domme will be playing however she wishes. You’re going to enjoy my machine reaming your tight hole hard and fast. It can go up to three hundred strokes per minute. I’ve fitted it with a thick, curved dildo with rotating beads in the head. Those beads are going to rub all over your sweet spot until you fly for me one more time.”
The scene he described made me hot, but three hundred strokes per minute? Fuck! A mixture of trepidation and eagerness sent shivers racing through my body. I got hard from simply listening to his description.
I was also depressed. This was it. One more scene with my dominant couple then it would be over. How the hell was I supposed to go back to the way things had been before when I no longer felt like the same person? I hated the thought of never playing with them again. Never seeing their faces as they climaxed or hearing their passionate moans.
Dammit! I didn’t want this night to ever end, but I could sense time slipping away with each revolution of the minute hand on an unseen clock.
They rolled the fuck machine into place behind me and the dildo slid into my stretched and lubed hole with ease. He set it to pumping at a slow rate as the sharp edge of my Mistress’s nails scraped along my flank. She moved away, and a moment later her nails abraded my swollen cock.
“You have fun with your machine, Sir. I’ve found a scrumptious toy of my own to play with.”
The sexy deepening of her voice pleased me. I pictured her sitting beneath the bench, legs crossed, licking her lips in anticipation of how I’d taste. Before appeasing her appetite, she tickled and teased my balls, which drew taut under her ministrations. She took first one, then the other, into her hot mouth, tongue sweeping over the twin globes. I tried to thrust forward, but was held still by the ever-present bonds.
My Dom moved to the head of the bench and repeated his earlier warning before removing the gag. Wiggling my jaw around, I tried to work out some of the soreness then wet my lips. With my mouth opened wide, I waited for it to be filled, longing to taste him.
In a coordinated effort, her lips kissed my crown at the same time his cock entered my hungry mouth and the machine fucking me picked up the pace. It was all so damn good.
His heady masculine aroma coupled with his salty flavor captivated me. Sucking hard, I drew his dick down my throat until my nose burrowed into a soft nest of hair. On the next thrust, I carefully used my teeth to sensitize his velvety skin. I couldn’t get enough of him. His scent, the taste of his pre-cum, his growls and moans—it all created a strong aphrodisiac which fed my lust.
My mind wandered back to Chris as it had often during the night. This Dom was so similar to my ex-lover. His touch, scent and taste all triggering memories of our time together. Still, I wasn’t able to focus my thoughts for any sustained period.
At random intervals, the fuck machine would change speeds. I didn’t know or care which one of them controlled the device. My only concern was that it wouldn’t stop anytime soon.
“Oh, yesss,” he hissed. "So good. You love sucking my cock. What a talented slave.”
If my hands were free, I’d make it much better for him. My fingers twitched as I thought about stroking his mouth-watering cock. I would apply the perfect pressure along the shallow groove behind his balls, massaging his prostrate from the outside. Then I’d rim his pucker with a damp finger before sinking it deep. Strong muscles would clamp down on the digit, struggle to keep it inside. I’d match my Mistress, move for move.
Fuck, I could almost feel it, his imagined responses to my loving touch driving me mad with want. There was so much I yearned to share with both of them if only circumstances were different.
I still wasn’t sure of the right place for me within the world of D/s, but now knew it wasn’t being a slave. Not that being pleasured by two Doms qualified as slavery. This night was teaching me a great deal about myself and opening up new desires, motivations and goals. By far, my strongest wish was for more with both of my partners. There was a definite symbiosis, a mutually beneficial association, growing between us that I pined to further investigate.
My Dom broke free of my mouth for a moment. The empty feeling made me whimper. Thankfully, he was quick to return. I greedily sucked him down my throat.
“It’s a shame you can’t see your Domme. Her legs are spread wide as she squats, riding a rather intimidating black dildo. Her back is coated with sweat, her face contorted in a mixed expression of agony and bliss, red lips stretched around your cock.
“And you, restrained for our use. I’d love to see your green eyes glancing up at me from under those long lashes. To witness the pleasure you derive from servicing me. Watch as the hunger takes over, turning your gaze glassy.”
My heart beat wildly and I became breathless. Had my mouth not been occupied, I still wouldn’t have been able to speak. He talked about me as if he knew me, had seen my eyes, witnessed me in the throws of passionate delight, but this man didn’t know me. The real me. He believed me to be a meek, compliant slave.
How would he react to my longing to hold him tight and make love every night? Would he be troubled by how my heart ached? Bothered by my wanting to turn the tables and fuck his ass? Would he be willing to watch me fuck my Mistress’s pussy? Share her with me?
A new dread bubbled up from the dark recesses of my soul. Could I reach out and accept the chance to love them if it were offered? Take the chance they might love me in return?
“I’m going to come, slave.”
Please! I longed to taste his offering, but there was that word again. Slave. I hated the label. Society wanted to place neat and tidy tags on everything and everyone, but most of those characterizations didn’t fit the bill. People are complex, each one unique and individual. Having him calling me a slave was similar to those who wanted to label me as gay or bi-sexual. I didn’t look at myself that way. For me it was all about what felt good and right. And this, being with them, was better than anything I’d ever been a part of.
“Me too,” my Mistress cried.
“You will take my offering. Drink it down and give her yours. Come with us…”