|Bannon and Sadira|
One of the most pressing desires I as an author have is to write a full-length novel from the point of view of Sadira, a submissive and a slave. I love the thought of exploring her submission and devotion to her Master, and how deep her need for his brand of domination goes. Here is an excerpt from what I hope will grow into that book.
"Bannon," she said quietly, staring in meek deferment down to the floor. "Do I shame you?"
"No," he said firmly. He came to her side, kneeling down to take her chin in his hand and tilt her eyes up to him. "Never think such a thing, Sadira."
"These last few weeks, on our journey from my homeland... You have enjoyed what we have shared, haven't you?"
"Yes," he said. "I have."
"You have given me freedom, do you see that, barbarian?"
"Yes," he replied. "But--"
"No," she interrupted. It was not something she would have done with Set, her former master, but now, here, it was important that Bannon understood. "No, Bannon...no 'but'. You have made me free. How I choose to use that freedom is up to me, is it not?"
"And if I choose to will it to you? If I want to be with you, to be yours. To give you all of me. Is that unworthy?"
"I would not have you assume that I am damaged," she said. "Or that my desires are evidence of that damage, something to be doctored and restrained. That Set may have harmed me in some way does not concern me when I am with you; when you took me as your prisoner you treated me to a passion that undid every link in the chain Set forged to leash me. I cannot and will not find fault in that act."
"Sadira," Bannon muttered, chiding. "I made you bleed. I left marks on you, bruises--"
"Which thrill me," she said in reply. "Each time I feel the ghost of pain which comes because of a mark you've made on my body in the heat of your passion, I only become more eager for when I will next be captive to that maddening lust once more."
"How can you desire to be subjected to such violence, after what Set did to you? You told me yourself you hated the man and would have put the sword through him with your own hands if you could. Am I to victimize you until you will feel the same of me? I would not have a woman to my bed who does not want to be there."
"It was not the violence that made me hate Set," she said. "In point of fact, I would be lying if I said there had not been physical pleasure in the act of lying with him. There was. A lot. Perhaps because in the depths of my hatred there was some lovely addictive ecstasy in indulging his poison, like a man who drinks himself to the brink of death. Set filled my veins with the promise of gluttonous, dangerous, carnal and hedonic excess. The very knowledge that I shouldn't feel pleasure from it was nearly enough to make me come as soon as it began. So no... It was not the violent lust that made me hate him."
"Then what?" Bannon asked. "What turned his most loyal servant--his most pleasured concubine--against him?"
She mulled it over, folding her hands thoughtfully in her lap.
"Set did not merely want me tamed," she said softly. "It was not a matter of mastering me through the promise of fulfillment, an exchange of my power for the reward of pleasure. Set..."
A sigh escaped her.
"Set wanted to hurt me. He derived his joy from terrorizing me. From making me fear him."
She looked up at Bannon again, meeting his gaze and holding it with earnest.
"With you," she said, "I submit because I want to. I am a big girl and I know my way around a weapon or two, easily. To submit my body to you is pleasure because I can be that creature, only trading that strength for the enticement of yours. Laying down my will is a relief in light of the satisfaction you give me. With Set it was an act of trapped fear, and that was what he derived his pleasure from.
"But I would have man whose desire for me drives him to the very limits of passion, and one whose stamina for more primal indulgences matches my appetite for the same. If you are to claim me as yours I would know how ravenous the thought of me makes you, that you would be like a lion fighting to mate, to claim a creature as his to possess, his to command, and if you can give me such a lustful passion I will wear the marks of your need with ardor and pride. Can you understand my hunger for such violence then, barbarian?"
She thought perhaps he did: a warm flush had colored his throat and cheeks, and if she wasn't mistaken the first stirrings of arousal were making themselves known. Sadira stood and approached him, holding his gaze as she did, moving with all the smooth , silent intent of a stalking jungle cat.
"I want a lover who will bind me and hold me down," she said in an insistent little growl. "For I fear I will shatter to pieces if you do not. I want you to crave me and need me and possess me, jealously, and best me with your strength so there is no question but that I am yours, and yours alone. I want you to ravish my body with the fury and heat you did that first night when I would not simply give it to you and made you take it for yourself. I want you to command me as you did that night on the ship, speaking no words but merely taking what belonged to you, what you had made yours through sheer, virile strength of will. I want you to own me, utterly."
She came as close to his body as she dared, the tips of her breasts--stiff under the thin gauze of the tunic she wore -- close enough to barely brush his naked chest under the open vest, the shape of his own arousal--now very evident under his leggings--barely a hair's breadth from her silk-clad hip.
"In fact," she murmured, sultry. "Now that I grown wet trying to explain myself, I find that I want all of those things...right...now."