'Voyeur' by Sierra Cartwright

“Tell me what you see.”

Marnie jumped. A bit of her martini sloshed over the side of her glass, spilling onto the polished hardwood floor.

“I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Master Zachary?

A shiver chased down her spine. Although she’d never met him, she recognised the sound of his commanding baritone. She’d dreamt of him telling her to strip, to drop to her knees, to suck his cock. Now, with him so close, the reality of his voice sent a delicious thrill arrowing through her insides, making her hot and wet. Well, hotter and wetter than she had been only a minute ago. Damn. This man was the stuff of fantasies. She started to turn to face him, but he closed his strong, forceful hands around her shoulders, keeping her firmly in place. “No. Stay where you are.” Her response to his voice, to his touch, surprised her. She didn’t normally have this kind of raw response to any man. Not only did he unnerve her, but she was a bit embarrassed to have been caught staring shamelessly at the erotic act occurring on the other side of the glass. “I was about to move on.”

“Liar.” His tone was warm, taking the sting out of the word. Impossibly, then, he moved in closer. She could all but feel the rub of his jeans against the bare skin of her legs. She should have worn leather pants, or, at the least, tights. Against her ear, he whispered, “You want to watch every moment. That’s why you’re here.”

“Yes,” she finally admitted. Master Theodore and his submissive wife Susanna were in the observation room. She was naked, on her knees, gazing up adoringly at him. Her breasts, with their hard, beautiful nipples were cupped in her palms, as if she were offering them, and herself, to her Dom. About once a month, the couple opened their spectacular English country home to like-minded people. Attendance was by invitation only. Fortunately, one of the men who worked in her office, Darius, had been taken to the Waters’ Estate by his Domme, Jennifer.

Tantalised, Marnie had spent half a year badgering him with questions and begging for an invitation. Last month he and his Domme had come through, and she’d been allowed in as their guest. She’d met several of their friends, and she’d seen Master Zachary interact with a submissive, but Marnie hadn’t really gotten a chance to explore. This month, however, she was here on her own.

She’d love to be one of the people observed, instead of just the voyeur. But she knew that was impossible. She lacked the confidence, and, well, frankly, disliked her body. Despite eating more lettuce than a rabbit, consuming enough carrots to turn orange, forgoing enough chocolate to send Switzerland into bankruptcy, and sweating at the gym three times a week, she had bulges and ripples where they should never be.

“Marnie, isn’t it?” Her heart skipped a beat, then slammed the next dozen together. “How do you know my name?”

'Carnal Caresses' by Desiree Holt

Bree Sullivan drove through the wrought iron gates with the five and the S entwined in the centre and headed up the long curving driveway. The gates swished closed behind her, locking with a clang that while soft was definite and unmistakable in its message. She was in. Getting out would depend on her host. She stopped in front of wide stone steps at the top of the driveway’s arc, where a tall, good-looking young man waited for her in precisely tailored black slacks and white silk shirt. Was it him? Was he the one? But when he opened her door and stood politely aside for her to exit, she realised he was just the valet, sent to tuck away her car somewhere.

“Good evening, Miss Sullivan.” His voice was quiet and well-modulated. “Jennifer is waiting for you at the door.”

As she mounted the wide steps, hearing her car being driven away, the broad, heavy oak door opened and an exotic-looking woman in a long strapless gown stood facing her.

“Welcome, Miss Sullivan.” She had a slight accent that Bree couldn’t place. “Welcome to the House of Five Senses. We hope you enjoy your evening.”

Yeah, so do I.

She stood in a high-ceilinged reception area with polished wood flooring and an Oriental rug that she was sure cost more than her condo. Another woman stood next to Jennifer, holding a tray with several squares of material. Bree took in a breath to centre herself. She’d done it on the spur of the moment, caught up in the glamour, excitement and adrenaline of the charity auction. And of course egged on by her closest friend, Cilla the wild child.

“Oh, do it Bree,” she’d giggled, sipping on yet another glass of champagne. “A night at the famous, erotic House of Five Senses. My God, they’re so private no one but the members ever know what goes on. All we have is rumour.” She winked. “And lots of delicious gossip. I get wet just imagining the things they do.”

”I’m sure you all let your imaginations run away with you,” Bree giggled, “just like you always do.”

“Oh, no.” Cilla leaned closer. “I have it on good authority—and I don’t dare say whose—that absolutely everything and anything goes. You pick which of the senses you want to focus on and everything is geared towards that. There are no limits.”

“I don’t know,” Bree waffled.

Cilla jabbed her with her elbow when the next bid went up. “Put some spice in your life, kiddo. Have a once in a lifetime sexual experience. Things you’d never decide to do on your own. Go on, wave your little bidding paddle.” And so she’d done it.

There were only five invitations available for bid, one for each of the five senses. Bree had chosen Touch when she’d filled out her card and handed over her check. When they’d handed her the envelope and her list of instructions, she had be told to read everything carefully, but she would not be allowed to ask any questions. Simply appear in the manner required and the rest would be up to the owners of the House.

For a week, she’d vacillated between erotic anticipation and nervous anxiety. The instructions along with the accompanying kit had been enough to make her rethink her impulsive decision.

'Welcome to Paradise' by Ashley Ladd

Jordin Marshall spread her toes in the warm Florida sand and let the heady warmth seep into her. This was a long-time dream, and she wondered again if it was a fantasy. Having lived in the snows of Alaska and Utah all her twenty-four years, she’d finally found paradise.

Stretching her bikini-clad body, she reached towards the sun’s warmth and light. Joyous laughter bubbled from her lips, and she hoped a merman would emerge from the depths of the blue gulf waves and claim her for his own. Well, not really. She just wanted a man. A man who wasn’t of her father’s choosing or the type he would choose: a return Mormon missionary, probably an exulted Brigham Young University or Rick’s College grad. No, she’d escaped her daddy’s clutches to find a man of her choosing. No return missionaries or religious nuts need apply. And no one was to know she was rich, either. She longed to find love on her own terms. To be loved for herself. That shouldn’t be too hard since she was staying at Paradise Inc., a cosy little hotel on the gorgeous Gulf Shore of west Florida. If she couldn’t find love in paradise, where could she?

Certainly not at Utah State even though she knew darned well her dad had sent her there to be as close to BYU as possible. If he’d had his way, she’d have attended BYU to get her MRS, but since she wasn’t a temple-card carrying member of the Latter-day Saints, she’d been rejected. Had her dad ever been mortified. And had she ever been relieved. Like her mother, she had serious doubts about the church her father prized.

A handsome, well-muscled blond caught her eye, and remembering the flirting advice she’d recently read on the internet, she returned his smile. It was so wide, she could almost feel the cleft in her chin deepening. Pretending to look for the small black shark’s teeth that were so abundant in the Gulf sands, she inched her way nearer to the hottie. But then a buxom, blonde female joined him and whisked him away, kicking sand in her wake and burying Jordin’s dreams under clumps of wet sand.

Jordin bit back a sigh and bagged her sharks’ teeth. Oh well, she consoled herself, there was sure to be an abundance of available men in Paradise. If not, looking on the bright side, at least she could make shark’s teeth necklaces for all her friends back home.

She spent her afternoon playing in the surf and sand and sunbathing, trying to take a bit of pallor off her lily-white flesh. Since she didn’t want to look like a cooked lobster, she reapplied her Bull Frog sunscreen every half hour and wore a visor and dark shades to protect her eyes that were more accustomed to light filtered through clouds than heavy doses of direct sun. Although she spied a lot of interesting men, she hadn’t gotten up the nerve to approach any. What was she supposed to say? Carry me away? Make love to me? Save me from daddy dearest?

Oh, yeah. That would really attract men.

'Spiced Vanilla' by Victoria Blisse

It had become a habit—a pleasant one, maybe the only one in my whole day. Around about two o’clock I would walk down the main street, past the supermarket, the café, the appliance shop and the carpet store, and I’d turn up a plain side street with no remarkable features. It was a short way up that street to the place I loved. Jacques.

Around six months ago, I had walked past that street and caught a delicious scent on the air. It combined almonds, vanilla, chocolate and a hint of spicy cinnamon, and as my stomach rumbled, I had to check it out. It seemed so comforting, that smell, it reminded me of happy times in the kitchen with my Mother as a child. Jacques was new then. It had opening offer posters in the window. The smell of new paint was an astringent undercurrent as I drew closer to the shiny black exterior of the shop.

At first, I thought Jacques was a cake shop, but it only took a moment looking at the artistic, architectural cakes to make me realise it was something much more. I remembered the word from my French GCSE lessons. Jacques was a Patisserie. Even back then, with the opening offers, I could not afford to try a cake. I wanted to. There were several that caught my attention.

There was a tart made with fanned-out layers of apple, a cheese cake so deep yellow it made my mouth water and a square chocolate cake with icing and the most delicate stars and sparkles decorating it. It wasn’t just that they looked good either. They smelled divine, too. With every opening and closing of the door, I’d get a waft of sweet, warm bakery and confection, and I would close my eyes and imagine the tastes. Custard, cream, chocolate, fluffy sponge and crunchy meringue. It quickly became my favourite place.

I wished I could go in and buy something, but the price tags were just too high for me. I could barely afford a cheap cake let alone an artistic, expensive one. But every day, I would treat myself to their visual beauty combined with their heavenly scent.

It was a late summer day with just the hint of the approaching autumn chill in the air when I made my usual trip down to Jacques. I set off from my home at two, and I was at the window of the patisserie by two-fifteen. It was a Friday, and I could see his stock was well-depleted. All the large cakes had been sold bar a carrot cake and a sponge, and many of the shelves in the window and by the counter were nearly empty.

I closed my eyes and inhaled as the door opened and the bell jangled. The subtle scents of light summer filled me—lemon and orange, the citrus tang mellowed with vanilla and strawberries, milky cream and the gentlest caress of chocolate and warm alcohol.

The screeching of brakes pulled me viciously from my summer daydream and transported me into my nightmare. It had happened in winter almost a year ago, and it haunted my every sleeping moment and often crept into the daydreams, too.

'Sweet Urges' by Jessica Jarman

Oh shit, she couldn’t breathe.

Carly Sandstone rested her forehead on the steering wheel and drew in one breath after another. This was it. Tonight was the night. She’d finally worked up the nerve to go after what she wanted—Jace Thomas. Her friend of many years and the object of her lust for as long as she knew what lust was.

Yet here she was, sitting in her car practically hyperventilating. Get over it, she told herself. She was sick of being the friend, the buddy Jace hung out with, while she watched him go out with other women. And knowing what was going on behind closed doors... Jealousy burned in Carly’s gut. Jace was a dominant, in-control man, and that carried over into the bedroom. She was well aware of that fact, thanks to the indiscreet bragging and gushing of several of Jace’s exes. Most had been threatened by Jace and Carly’s close friendship, and apparently thought giving Carly detailed, blow-by-blow descriptions of sex with Jace would put her in her place.

Carly snorted. Just the opposite. While she hated hearing about him with other women, the thought of him tying her up, spanking her, dominating her had given her many sleepless nights. Hell, thinking of it now had her squirming in her seat. She straightened and, before she could talk herself out of it, grabbed the wicker basket from the seat beside her. She locked the car and walked determinedly up the path to his front door. After knocking, she held her breath and waited for Jace to answer.

The door swung open, and there he was. Absolutely delectable in jeans and snug T-shirt. His feet were bare, and his dark hair was slightly damp and curling at the ends. He must have gotten out the shower recently. The air left her lungs in a whoosh. Damn, he always managed to take her breath away. Up until now she’d been able to hide that little fact from him—but it was getting harder day by day.

“Hey, Carly,” he greeted and stepped back to allow her to enter. “I’m surprised to see you on a Friday night. Thought for sure you’d have a hot date.”

Carly chuckled nervously. “If you’re busy or have plans, I can take off.” She nearly smacked her forehead. Dammit. Already she was waffling. Not exactly the way to get what she wanted.

“No plans other than a few beers, takeout, and maybe a movie.” He eyed the basket in her hand. “No takeout?” he said hopefully.

“No takeout,” she assured. “I brought Italian—your favourite.”

“Oh,” he grabbed his stomach, “bless you, darling woman. I knew there was a reason I keep you in my life. Pure magic with food, that’s what you are.”

Carly rolled her eyes, even as nervousness did a jig in her stomach. “Ha ha. Get the wine glasses, smart ass. We’ll eat in the living room.”

Carly strode into the spacious living room and smiled when she saw flames in the fireplace. Perfect. She set the large basket on the coffee table and, swallowing the lump in throat, began to set the scene—blanket spread on the floor before the fire, bottle of red opened, dishes pulled out of their insulated containers and set out. She kept the berries and cream in the basket for later.

“Well, well, a picnic.”

She turned towards Jace. He crossed the room and picked up the bottle of wine. After pouring two generous glasses, he handed one to her.

'Whispers' by Kim Dare

Zachariah Radcliff ran his fingertips over Charlotte’s throat, slowly tracing the line of her jugular. It took every ounce of his self control to keep his touch gentle. He’d waited far too long since his last feeding, but now...

He closed his eyes for a moment, forcing himself not to assume too soon. Everything still hung on Charlotte’s answer.

“Are you sure, my pet?” Zachariah asked softly.

“Yes, master.”

He brushed her hair away from her neck. The dark curls fell back over her shoulder. Charlotte shivered—a shudder so tiny, it required his heightened senses to perceive.

The room was warm. His armchair stood close to the fire. Although she was naked, her place kneeling at his feet put Charlotte directly in front of the blaze. There was only one reason for his pet to shiver, and it had nothing to do with the temperature. She appeared perfectly serene, but he sensed her blood pounding, hard and fast through her veins. He knew it was impossible for him to truly understand how Charlotte felt about the imminent feeding, but he looked down at his pet and did his best. Was the shiver a sign of fear? Desire? He couldn’t read her well enough to be certain. He’d never known a human who was quite so infuriatingly in control of her reactions as Charlotte.

Zachariah forced a deep breath into his lungs and held back a sigh. She’d known who he was, what he was, when she’d come under his protection. She’d been given time to become accustomed to the idea. If she said she was sure, he no longer had any choice but to trust her judgement. He couldn’t wait any longer.

“If you are truly ready for this, come to your master.”

Charlotte stood. Even with the desire for her blood scorching through his veins, he couldn’t fail to appreciate her curves the same way a human man might. Zachariah ran a hand down his pet’s back and caressed the soft swell of her hip as she sat on his lap.

He arranged Charlotte so her back rested against his chest. Her neck hovered temptingly close to his lips. He stroked his hands over her limbs, encouraging her to rest against him. Charlotte moulded herself to fit perfectly against the lines of his body, but she didn’t relax. Charlotte maintained the same tense reserve she always displayed in his presence.

“Bare your neck for me, pet.”

She took her hair and twisted the thick mass of curls together, bringing the rope of hair over her left shoulder to expose the right side of her neck. Her hands showed no sign of an anxious tremble.

Zachariah wished he could trust that to mean she really wasn’t nervous.

He tilted her head back and kissed her neck. Tracing the vein with the tip of his tongue, he pushed back the urge to bite, the way he had so many times over the last few weeks.

Charlotte turned her head to the side, giving her master better access to the vein. It was more than enough encouragement. Coming from a woman who never let her wants and desires show, it was a full orchestral symphony of invitation, with an extra encore thrown in for good measure.