BDSM Bedtime Stories Season Two Episode Seventeen ~ Michael Alexander


Challenge of Love Michael Alexander provided us a delicious excerpt in his new book, Challenge of Love.  This is one of my favourite books by him and I'm wishing the next book will be finished soon!  Enjoy the excerpt which is also narrated by Mr. Alexander.  As a treat, I went to see him for an interview.  Below is what happened... BEWARE NSFW.  It is a long one.






      The room is mostly dark, filled with shadows cast from the flickering lights of a few candles and the lack of direct lighting.  Inside a man moves quietly, deliberately, setting out inscrutable objects on nearby tables.  He reaches up and pulls a small string and a single white light brightens into existence over what appears to be a patient examination table.  A woman, dark of hair, with pouty lips and generous curves lies unconscious upon the table.  She is gagged, a thick red ball buckled in between her lips.  Not that she needs it, but he knows soon enough that she will be awake. 

      Humming to himself, the man fits each wrist with a thick leather cuff, pulling her arms outward and up to the corners of the platform.  His touch is delicate, as if he reveres her skin and he seems to spend much of his time gently stroking the insides of her arms, right down to her torso.  She twitches as his fingers explore, eliciting a smile.

      He moves his hands down her body to her ankles.  He has already removed her shoes and his fingertip traces a line along the inside of her arch.  Again she twitches and he sighs in disappointment. She is coming around and he must hurry now.  He buckles on the leather ankle restraints, then pulls her legs outward.  Metal extenders swing out from the base of the table and he lifts her leg, placing her knees in the support.  Simple metal clips attach to the ankle cuffs, making sure that even had she wanted, she wouldn’t be able to move.  He glances around.  Hot wax, whips, massagers, clamps of all varieties, and even a special surprise.  She lets out a soft moan, her eyes fluttering.  He picks up a light cane, thin and long.  He extends it across her chest and then ever so lightly, runs it across her bosom, caressing her with it.

Master Michael: Hello? Bookaddict? Awake yet? Are you comfortable? 

      The girl moans, stretching slightly.  There is the tinkle of metal as she begins to move, only to belatedly realize that her arms are bound above her.  Her eyes fly open as the realization of her predicament becomes all too real and she twists her head to look at him. 

      He smiles wickedly.

Master Michael:  I'm glad you were able to stop by and have a bit of tea with me.  I guess I should have warned you that I added a little something to get us ready for the interview.  Because when you step into the dark, you need to be properly prepared.

      She shakes her head and mumbles angrily at the man.  She tests her bonds, knowing in her heart that someone like Michael Alexander, a master wordsmith and BDSM aficionado would never be so careless as to improperly secure someone.  She screams into the gag, but little sound emerges, certainly not enough to alert anyone beyond this room.  Yet it is human nature to escape, to test ones bonds, to fly for freedom.  She pulls, her wrists aching from the strain.  It is of no use.  He has left little to chance and with the same exquisite preparation he gives his books, he has primed her as well.  Her chest heaves from her struggles and he begins to rub the light cane across her breasts again.  Her shirt conforms to her well-endowed bosom and after a few moments, her nipples harden.

Master Michael:  Well this is very pleasant isn’t it?  When you approached me for an interview, you didn't specify how the interview would go or if I would be the one interviewed.  I hope you don’t mind, but while you were unconscious I went through your belongings and found your questions in a little notebook, along with some rather interesting notes on some of your fantasies. 

      He holds up a small notebook and waves it with a smile.  His right hand still holds the cane, which he now begins to lightly tap against the extended points of her breasts.  He is not hitting her.  There is no pain, but the humiliation of her position, even while clothed, his steady tapping is like the Chinese Water Torture.

Master Michael:  Before we begin, we should probably get our respective titles out of the way.  You may call me Michael, but I think I would prefer something more intimate.  How does “Master” sound?  I think I’d like the way that rolls off your tongue.  I’m guessing you have a talent tongue, but we’ll see about that a bit later.  It seems as if you’re drooling around that ball gag and I know how uncomfortable that can be.  But I digress.  Let's see, the first question you wanted to ask.  How did you start writing BDSM stories? 

      She glares at him, trying to suppress the physical responses of her body as he teases her. He is right about the ball gag.  It makes her jaw ache and she can feel moisture around her lips.  There is a grating sound as he pulls a tall stool over to the table.  He settles down and she gets a better look at him.  Thinning brown hair, a dark mustache, glasses, bright blue eyes that seem to sparkle with enthusiasm.  He is dressed in a button down oxford, blue in color, along with expensive khaki trousers.  His belt is black leather, well polished, but clearly flexible.  He is neither tall nor short, neither fat nor thin.  He is broad at the shoulder and looks powerful, more like a wrestler than a runner. 

Master Michael:   I started writing BDSM stories thanks to a young lady, much like yourself, who called herself “Raven.” I met her online during the fledgling years of the internet, when chat rooms weren’t bot filled advertisement nightmares.  We connected, learned a little bit, and from her I was driven to pen my very first BDSM story: The Chapel in the Woods.  The girl on the altar, who offers herself up as a sexual sacrifice to a forgotten god is Raven.  From there, it was just another step to write other stories that catered to the dark and deviant fantasies in all our hearts.

      The girl wriggles in her bonds again, the steady beat of the cane against her breasts driving her mad.  He isn’t even hitting her!  The gag keeps her cries to a muted level and Michael Alexander ignores her, continuing to focus the light taps on her nipples. She frowns at him.

Master Michael:  But wait.  This is supposed to be a give and take.  How about we have a little challenge?  Like my latest novel?  I'll ungag you.  You can ask your questions, but for every answer I provide, I get to do inflict something deviant upon you.  Are you willing to play the game?

      The girl’s eyes widen and she shakes her head rapidly back and forth clearly refusing. Suddenly the cane snaps down a little harder and the first twinge of pain erupts in her body.  But even as this sensation rockets through her, she feels his hand on her foot, his fingers caressing her insole.  It is a disparity, the sensual caress combined with the little pain.  She twitches, unable to reconcile the differing sensations into a cohesive whole.  He laughs at the confusion in her eyes.

Master Michael:  I guess that will be a yes?  I'll answer your next question before we start our game.  Now let’s see here.  Oh yes.  Right here, next to this little fantasy about being tied up by a strange man and sexually tormented, you ask What are some of your favourite fetishes?”

      He takes a deep breath and puts the notebook and the cane down.  He moves to the end of the table, coming up off the stool.  A small bottle is plucked from a nearby table and the girl lifts her head, somewhat frightened of what he is doing.  He pours some oil onto his hands and then, to her shock, begins rubbing the bottoms of her feet. It feels incredible, soft and delicate, more caress than massage.  But as his fingers explore the contours of her arches, he speaks.

Master Michael:  Now this is an interesting question, considering the position you are in.  Fetishes are personal things that sometimes don’t lend well to being spoken of.  And often times they are better shared.  I’m a sensualist and while the scenes in my stories are frequently intense, humiliating, and dark, the underlying aspect is that beneath everything else there is a desire that must be quenched.  I’m just enough of a sadist to want to see how you’d handle a light whipping while tied to the St. Andrew’s Cross, a vibrator pressed delicately to your clit.  Or perhaps I could tie you down, and gently rub the sole of your foot, light caresses finally turning into a tickling torture you can’t escape from? 

      Suddenly the caress becomes a fluttering and Bookaddict’s eyes widen.  She pulls away, but the bonds holding her legs are too tight, too secure and the best she can do is curl her toes.  He laughs and grabs one foot, holding it tightly while he begins to tickle the arch of her foot, his fingers flashing against her sole as she began bucking, squealing into her gag.  He does it only for half a second, but it is like a year to her.  Finally he lets go and she realizes she is laughing so hard that tears have streamed from her eyes.  He stops and moves back to the soft caress on both feet, leaving her feeling wilted and tired.

Master Michael:  Either way I’d enjoy the touch of my fingers against your skin, the twitch of your muscles trying to avoid.  So whether it is bringing the cane wickedly down upon the soles of your delicate feet, or bringing the supple leather of a strap down on your swollen and glistening sex, I would play you like an instrument, never quite breaking you, but forcing you to sing.

      Finally he takes his hands away from her feet, wipes them delicately on a towel, and then moves around to the top of the examination table.  Gently, he begins to unbuckle the ball gag and a moment later it is pulled from her lips, wet and glistening.  Her tongue flicks back and forth and she opens and closes her jaw.  Finally she glares at him.

Bookaddict:  Yuck.  That gag tastes terrible.  My jaw hurts.  Why are you doing this to me?  I thought we'd have a sexy X-rate interview.  I should have been more clear.  Untie me!

      He laughs, dark and sinister.  He picks up her notebook again and waves it in the air.

Master Michael:  You did say we could have a "fun" interview.  This is my version of fun and you have my terms.  Say yes to the “challenge” and you get the answers.  Say no and I'll let you go and this interview comes to an end with nothing more than a foot massage.

      She thinks, again pulling on her bonds.  She knows he will keep her word, but she is also curious.  What answers will he give?  Finally she shakes her head, not at him, but at herself. 

Bookaddict:  Crap.  The things I do for the BDSM group to get something extra for them.  No blood.  No water sports or scat.  No permanent marks.  I accept your terms.

           He laughs again, tossing the ball gag aside.

Master Michael:  It seems that we embrace most of the same limits, at least in reality.  But still, you’ve seem to forgotten one simple thing.  My title?  How do you address me?

      The notebook transfers to one hand and picks up the cane and holds it up menacingly.  She closes her eyes and opens them again, steadying herself. 

Bookaddict: This is just for this interview; I want that to be clear.  Master Michael, I accept your terms.

Master Michael:  I’m so glad you agreed.  I’d have hated to be placed into a position where I might have had to insist. For the duration of the interview, you are mine to do with as I please and I will willingly answer your questions. 

      He puts both the notebook and the cane down on the nearby sidetable and picks up a new tool, a pair of shears.  She stiffens in alarm as he moves to her ankle and deftly begins cutting the pant leg of her pants.

Bookaddict:  Hey! Wait!  What the hell are you doing!  Do you know how hard it is for me to find a pair of pants that fit me?!

      He looks up at her with a knowing smile, but doesn’t slow down in the slightest.  In seconds he has reached her loins and deftly cuts all the way to her waistband.  The denim material opens like a banana peel and the creamy white flesh of her thigh is exposed.  A tiny red thong strap becomes visible running along the inside of her hip, but he moves down to the other leg and begins cutting.

Master Michael:  It should be readily apparent to a woman of your stature and experience that coming to an interview with a BDSM master such as myself would require something more appropriate in the way of attire.  As part of our agreement, you will be required to wear what I feel is appropriate clothing for our game and interview.  Slacks and tee shirt are hardly apropos.  Do you agree?

Bookaddict:  Do you have to CUT them off?  These are expensive and hard to replace!

Master Michael: I’ll of course reimburse you for the cost of the clothing, one way or another.

Bookaddict:  But what will I wear to LEAVE?

      He gives her a very direct look and smiles.  Now the black slacks are in tatters, separated along the front and he peels the material open and then tugs it away from her body.  Long, shapely legs come into the light and the small thong she is wearing is all that keeps her secrets from being exposed.  He moves to her side and begins cutting her shirt.  She feels the scissors against her skin.  Silently, she is glad that she chose not to wear a bra that morning. 

Master Michael:  That is your problem.  Remember?  I’m only your master until the interview is done.  Oh my!  Look at those lovely breasts!  There now.  Aren’t you more comfortable?  Everything properly aired?  We’ll leave your thong on for right now, but don’t worry.  We’ll get to that spot eventually.  Now, I think we’re ready to play “interview”.  I’ve already answered one question and you’ve paid for it with your clothing.  Care to ask another?

      She nods, feeling exposed and helpless, desperate for any level of control she might be able to wrest from him.

Bookaddict:  Can I see my notebook?

      He shrugs and picks it up, holding it open so that she can read.

Bookaddict:  You've been assisting Breanne with stories over the year.  How does this work?  Do you give her BDSM online tasks to complete?

      Michael purses his lips, clearly thinking, and then once again goes to the side table and picks up the bottle of oil.  Coming back to her side he pours a thick stream onto her breasts, causing her to gasp.  His hands come down, squeezing and rubbing the oil in, softly working the fluid into her flesh.  His fingers flicker against her nipples and when her breathing increases, obviously reacting to his caress, he answers.

Master Michael:  My relationship with Breanne Erickson began years ago when she reviewed one of my stories.  We corresponded and I encouraged her to write her own narratives, rather than provide fodder for mine.  What surprised me was how good she got, and so quickly.  She really started in 2010 when she began writing for my blog and that quickly became the popular and well-known “Tales” series.  She actually out sells me. At first I was doing some heavy mentoring, giving technical advice about how to construct a story, when to leave out boring bits, and how to make a sentence sound good.  But she learned so fast that now I’m mostly editing out the colloquial transitions with which she flavors her manuscript.  Breanne gets her “assignments” from her fans, as well as a few dedicated dominants who are willing to put up with her.  Breanne herself is a complicated, sometimes aggravating woman and there are reasons that her relationships are entirely physical and rarely last. 

She posts her unedited “tales” on the blog and then when it comes time to collect them I edit her work for wordiness, grammar, and spelling.  In three years she has made remarkable progress, which you can really see if you compare Volume 1 of her “Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut” to Volume 7.  We’re already collating Volume 8 with a release date set for some time in January 2014.

      The girl is having trouble thinking, the sensations he caused were so exquisite.  She lets out a soft moan, closing her eyes.  She tries to remind herself that Michael Alexander is a sensualist, a man of extremes, but the pleasure is such a strong sensation.  He gives both nipples light pinches, sending a shiver through her, rousing her back to attention. She blinks, trying to remember the next question, finally stumbling upon it.

Bookaddict:  What is something you never expected when you started publishing your BDSM stories?

      He smiles and pulls his hands away from her breasts.  Once again he wipes them delicately on the hand towel that rests nearby. 

Master Michael:  Why, meeting so many amazing people!  My readers are fantastic, as are the folks who review – positive or negative – since I’ve always appreciated critical commentary.  Granted, I’ve never had the opportunity to actually torment one of my fans quite like this, but I could certainly get used to it. 

      He pauses momentarily and picks up one of the candles; a white unscented pillar that has clearly been burning awhile.  He brings it closer to Bookaddict, lifting it high above her.  Her eyes track it, her breath quickening as it becomes apparent what he intends.  His hand comes up and covers her left breast, squeezing gently, and the first droplets of wax land not on her hardened nub, but on his knuckles.  He smiles down at her and adjusts the height, moving the candle lower.

Master Michael:  You probably can handle quite a bit, can’t you?

      She lets out a whimper as the first drops splashed down directly upon her nipple. More droplets of hot paraffin fall and he continues. 

Master Michael:  I’ve begun working with Hot Ink Press now and the “family” there is pretty remarkable.  For years I self-published but I think that most of my books from here on will go through Hot Ink.  I also was surprised at the demographics of BDSM erotica readers.  To find that sixty percent of my readers were female encouraged me to do a better job writing from an emotional perspective, which my latest novel “The Challenge of Love” really tries to do.  I’ve always been good at writing action packed “porn without plot” stories.  To do so WITH plot, emotion, tension, climax -both literary and sexually - as well as satisfying resolution has been the goal.  I’m not sure I’m quite there yet.  That will be something my readers must decide. 

      He moves the candle to the other breast, eliciting a fresh gasp from Bookaddict as her nipple contracts under the heat. 

Master Michael:  Did you want to ask another question?

      She nods frantically, her chest rising and falling rapidly, but is too wrapped up in the waxing to form coherent thoughts.  More droplets fall and Michael leans over to the table, letting a few errant droplets of hot wax fall into her cleavage as he retrieves her notebook.  He hold it up and reads the next question out loud.

Master Michael:  You ask, “Your BDSM stories can be pretty far out there.  Specifically, the one with your tentacle sex.  Does it ever occur to you that people may try some of the scenes in your books in real life?  Does it concern you?”

      He laughs and tosses the notebook back to the table.  He sets the candle down and busies himself with something different, something new, and something she can’t see.  She struggles to master herself, to calm down, but then he is turning back towards  her, something small and pink in his hands.  He moves down to her thigh and then to her shock, lifts up the top of her thong and slips the object he is holding into her panties.  It is cool and smooth. She lifts her head to see a wire trailing along her exposed skin, disappearing beneath the red material of her thong.

Master Michael:  Are you offering BookAddict?  It’s too bad we can’t get a tentacled alien in here, isn’t it? I wouldn’t mind watching that.  Could you continue an interview while so distracted?  It would be like one of those Japanese “naked news” television shows.  Can you imagine yourself sitting there, your notes in hand, while some strange, tentacle covered creature comes squirming up underneath the desk, those long arms caressing your knees, your thighs, pushing your legs apart? 

      As he spoke his fingers slide along her knees and thighs, swirling in circles, getting closer and closer to her panty covered sex.  Bookaddict tenses, fighting her desire, but wanting it all the same.  Suddenly the object resting against her clit, just underneath her thong begins to vibrate, the deft rumbling increasing her arousal exponentially.

Master Michael:  Would you squirm?  I think you would.  I think you’d rock your hips and even scoot forward.  Wouldn’t you? Would your breath get caught in your throat as some small sucker began tugging and sucking on your clit?  Could you do it?  Ask the next question even as something thick and flexible wriggled up into your depths?  I might just write it up.  How would you like to star in my next novel? 

      He presses down on the tiny, vibrating bullet nestled above her slit, increasing the pressure on her clitoris.  She arches her back, thrusting upward as fresh surges of pleasure explode through her.  His hand pleasures her, takes her to the brink and then he slows, leaving her gasping and wanting, desperate for climax.

Master Michael:  That said, I think most people who read my books understand that there is a fine difference between reality and fantasy.  Some of the things I write are totally possible.  Many are not.  I respect my readers enough to presume that they are smart enough to know the difference.  For example, I’ve penned some stories that our current society, quite rightfully, would think are not only sexist, but downright evil.  And I would agree with them.  But these stories are fantasy and must be treated as such.  There is a difference between BDSM and abuse.  I have yet to meet a couple involved in the BDSM lifestyle that DIDN’T understand that.  It’s usually individuals who are not initiated into BDSM that can’t comprehend the difference.

      He smiles and picks up the notebook again, holding it above her face.  Her eyes are unfocused and she cannot concentrate sufficiently to find her place.  The waves of pleasure coming from between her legs is too much.  Michael sighs, buts down the notebook and picks up the thin cane he had played with earlier.

Master Michael:  Clearly we need to focus here. 

      He lifts the cane above her and with a quick flick of his wrist, brings it snapping down across both breasts.  Bookaddict throws her head back, opening her mouth in a loud gasp, eyes wide.  Pain blossoms in her bosom, but it is short lived, a quick reminder of what could happen, rather than what will.  She shakes her head and blinks.  Her eyes find him and she focuses.

Master Michael:  Are you back with me now, or do I need to use the cane to remove all the wax from your breasts?

      For a trembling second, she thinks about saying yes.

Bookaddict:  No.  NO!  The notebook!  Please Master!

      He holds the notebook above her again, pleased to see her more attentive.

Bookaddict:   What is the strangest fan mail you've ever received?

      He laughs and puts the notebook down.  He still has not turned off the vibrating bullet purring between her legs, nor has he relinquished the cane.  He lays the thin wooden rod across her wax covered bosom and begins lightly tapping, cracking the wax, each impact concussive, adding impetus to the stirring of her loins.

Master Michael:  I’ve gotten a few odd ones over the years.  One was from a lady in Germany who, after reading my short story “The Museum of Inquisition,” asked for detailed instructions and pictures on how to build and use a “Judas Cradle.”  Can you imagine that Bookaddict?  You know what a Judas Cradle is, right?   I also once received a request from a gentleman in Russia who asked for permission to translate my short story “The Sorceress’ Garden” into Cyrillic to be posted on a Russian story site.  All the other strange email comes from you, Bookaddict.  Must it always be tentacle sex?

      His empty hand comes down once again on her thong covered sex, cupping her and pressing the vibrating toy harder into her clit.  Her hips churn with delight and he snaps the cane down a bit harder upon her breasts.  Wax chips fly, coming off her oiled bosom easily.  He leans closer.

Master Michael:  Are you getting close?  You do know that you must beg my permission to cum, right?  And even then I just might deny you release.  You’ll read more books that way. 

      He pauses, his hand still pressing down on her sex, the thong and toy merging into her flesh.  Her body trembles and her loins cannot remain still.  Every fiber of her is under tension and her lips are tightly pressed together, trying to hold herself from flying to pieces.

Master Michael:  Ready to ask your next question?

      He steps away from her, the sensations between her legs lightening slightly.  He puts down the cane and again takes up her notebook. He holds it up and reads from it himself.

Master Michael:  You ask, ,b>“does your family know you write non-con BDSM fantasy?  If so, what do they think?”

      He puts the notebook down and shakes his head.  He pulls a thick leather tawse from the table, also called a sap, but without a weighted end.  He shakes it out, one hand sliding up her ribs to a point just under her left breast.  He squeezes, working his fingers through and under the cracked wax. 

Master Michael:  There are two people who know about my writing non-consensual BDSM fantasy.  The first is my daughter.

      The leather strap smacks down hard.  Bookaddict’s nipple is the target, peeking out from between cooled melts and cane caused cracks.  The leather impacts widely, catching her entire areola and she gasps, arching up into the blow.  Wax flies off in all directions. 

Master Michael:  The second is my wife and submissive, Jenni. 

      He grabs hold of her other breast, plumping it firmly, the lays another hard stroke upon her curves.  It is the punctuation for his statement, the example.  She gasps, panting, heat suffusing her bosom as surely as the hot wax had.

Master Michael:  Both know, though neither are readers.  They call me a “professional pervert” but do so with smiles.  My daughter is an author and artist in her own right and has been prolific on fanfiction.net for years.  She’s actually finishing up HER first original novel and I’ve been beta-reading and editing that work.  While both my wife and daughter are supportive to the extent that they don’t object to my writing BDSM erotica, they have also been more enthusiastic about my non-BDSM works.

      As soon as he finishes speaking he levies a flurry of sharp strokes to her breasts, watching the flecks of white wax break from her skin and fall away.  He hits firmly, but not cruelly, leaving her with the overwhelming desire to cover herself, to protect her tender assets.  Multiple blows land upon her breasts, leaving her taut, crying out, her fingers clenched into fists.  He stops and steps back.

Master Michael:  Want to ask your next question?  I warn you, it will cost you.

      She blinks, sucking in air.  Her breasts ache, hot and heavy, but the sensation has combined with the buzzing against her clit and she can no longer distinguish the separate nerve signals as her brain combines the pleasure and pain.  Her question comes out in a gasp.

Bookaddict:  Cost?  What cost, Master?

Master Michael:  Ten strokes of course.  Do you still want to ask your question?

      She nods and he holds up both the sap and the notebook.  Her voice stumbles, the words rushing out pell mell. 

Bookaddict:  What are you working on right now?  How do you receive inspiration?

Master Michael:  I’m one of those authors who keep multiple irons in the fire.  I think I’ve got four different novels going at various levels of completion and I rotate through them as the whim takes me.  Currently I have sequels outlined and in both cases partially written for Sigma Epsilon Chi (with Samantha Mayfield) and The Challenge of Love, that latter of which was just released through Hot Ink Press.  I’m also very close to finishing a sixteenth century, pirate BDSM novel that I’m tentatively calling “Deep Waters” right now.  This will probably be the next novel of mine that comes out.

As for inspiration, all I need is a beautiful woman, the right environment, and a deviant mind.  Oh look!  Everything I need is right here.  Isn’t it, Bookaddict?

      He moves lower, away from her breasts, and she is puzzled.  Then his hand moves to the thong and tears it from her, the material parting and giving way to his strength.  The vibrating toy falls away and he catches it in his hand.  Then she gasps, arching her back as he pushes it deep into her wet slit, thumb penetrating behind it, making sure it is properly settled.  She feels the vibrations increase, doubling intensity and nearly goes insane.  She is unprepared for what comes next, neither expecting it, nor preparing for it.  He raises the leather tawse and calmly, passionately, brings it down upon her sex. 

Bookaddict:  Oh My GOD!

      Her head swings back and forth as he extracts the cost of her question from between her legs.  Agony billows at her sex, only to be chewed up and swallowed in a confusing hash of pleasure coming from inside her.  Strange signals are sent up her spinal cord to her brain, ordering her body to release adrenaline and dopamine.  Oxytocin floods her bloodstream and her body, unknowingly perhaps, prepares for orgasm.  Her toes curl, her fingers tighten into fists, and then she perches there on the edge.  Just one more blow…

But he stops, knowing that he has reached her limit.
  
Master Michael:  Ah yes.  Well, some music is too intense, right?  I’m sorry I’m not some tentacle monstrosity splitting you open, but this is reality. Not fantasy.  So let’s see.  Your next question is…  ah yes.  “Some of the scenes in your books, have you tried them?  Do you have to research them first?  If so, how do you research it?”

      He tosses the sap away and moves up her body back to her breasts.  He plucks a small spike laden wheel from his table, a tool she is quite familiar with.  He presses the sharp tips against the inside of her arm, just at the elbow, and then rolls it gently down her underarm, then over her breast, perforating her nipple.  She trembles, but is unable to stop him.  And she is unsure if she wants to stop him!  The wheel moves down her body, around and over her belly, thighs, even her clit, the lightest pin pricks of torment.  It isn’t enough to drive her over the edge.  It neither hurts, nor is pleasurable.  And through it all he continues speaking.

Master Michael:  Some of the scenes in my books I have tried.  I’m married and my wife (and sub when we can get away from the kids) is frequently the victim of my “research.” Like I said before, I’m a bit of sensualist, so poor Jenni is usually begging for more, rather than less.  It helps that she is multi-orgasmic and resilient.  Of course any woman who could put up with me must have those qualities in abundance.  Are you multi-orgasmic Bookaddict?  If I let you cum right now, would I be able to bring you right back to the edge?  Or are you one of the girls who respond best when denied? 

      The spikes begin to dig in slightly when the Wartenberg Wheel traverses her areola, or her labia.  Little lancelets of pain rushing like electric shocks through her.  He continues to speak.

Master Michael:  My wife also provides much in the way of inspiration.  We plan “sex dates” where we can get away from the kids and she is even more abnormal than I am.  Invariably dates she plans involve the sex toy of my choice for her to endure, bondage, revealing clothing, exquisite food, a little public humiliation - but nothing illegal - followed by privacy.  My Jenni prefers outdoor sex, especially in secluded clearings, frequently involving rope,  where things culminate in fiery passion, spankings, and eventually release of every kind imaginable.

      He leans in, the sharp pins digging into her nipples.  His words are soft, a direct opposite of what his hand is doing.

Do you need release, Bookaddict? Your notebook only has one more question in it.  What are you willing to give me in order to secure your release?  Do you even remember the last question you wanted answered?

      She closes her eyes, every fiber of her being stretched to the breaking point.  Her mind flails for an answer.  What to offer?  What would please him?  What would grant her what she craved?

Bookaddict:  You… you can have… my orgasm!  And yes! I remember.

He laughs. 

Master Michael:  You would give me YOUR orgasm?  For my collection?  Hmmm… very well.  I accept your offer.  It looks like you’ve met my challenge nicely.  Ask your question.

      He moves back down to the end of the table and she feels his hands run along the bottoms of her feet, caressing her, sliding up her instep, across her calves, higher and higher.  She trembles, shaking, allowing herself to get worked up.

Bookaddict:  If you could have your wicked way with a famous person, who would it be and what would you…

      Her voice trails off with a gasp.  She lifts her head, trying to understand the sensation.  The buzzing inside her hasn’t stopped, but now she realizes the extreme pleasure is coming from her clit.  She sees the top of his head, his face against her flesh and cries out as his tongue swirls across her tender nub.  She cannot control herself, gasping and thrusting as he licks and suckles at her sex, opening her petals and delving deep.  Further and faster she finds herself moving, approaching the pinnacle of her desire.  She needs to cum.  She wants to cum.

Bookaddict:   Master! Please!

      His head comes up, eyes alight with a fire, his own need perhaps?  His lips glisten with her juices and he straightens, only to grab another item off the table behind him.  She catches only a glimpse, but then hears the purr of another motor.  Suddenly something large, soft, and violently shaking is pressed against her clit and her vision turns white.

Master Michael:  Do you count, Bookaddict? Do you really want to know what women I fantasize about? Which ones I wish I could have under my thumb?  Did you know you were on that list? 

      He shakes his head and begins rotating the massager, working it around in circles even as it sensitizes her clitoris.  She is no longer listening, no longer caring as waves of pleasure blast through her.  Something sharp bites into her left nipple and she opens her eyes to see that he has placed a heavy metal clamp on the tip of her breast.  A second pain erupts and she sees the match to the first clamp.  And through it all the massager works at her sex, sending shivers of delighted pleasure pummeling through her veins.

Master Michael:  We all have fantasies, Bookaddict.  Fantasies about being with incredibly famous or beautiful people, but I don’t indulge in them very often.  A night with Kate Upton or Paris Hilton - I can’t think of another famous, beautiful woman who NEEDS to be punished as bad as Paris - might be fun for a brief fling, but would it really satisfy?  I think not.  I don’t merely lust after a quick thrust and a sudden release.  I prefer to take a woman apart, piece by piece, finding out what makes them moan, what makes them gasp, and how to bring them to the edge, hold them there, twist them around, and then see just how high I can make them fly.  And I don’t want to do it just once, but over and over.  I want to tie a woman down, her sweet spots open and ready, only to take a bottle of oil and gently caress just her petals, for hours, sensual sweet torment, without ever giving her what I know her body craves.  I want to tease and taste and savor her, bringing her to the breaking point, stressing her core until I know the very weft and weave of her soul.  A woman who understands that pleasure and pain are merely two sides of the same coin, and can be experienced together in the right crucible is the raw material I seek.  Me?  I am that smelter, that burning heat.

      The pleasure mounts inside her and she can no longer hold off.  She doesn’t want to hold off.  The orgasm begins, building like a tsunami headed for the coast, the power beneath the waves, nothing more than a swell at the surface until it approaches land.  She groans, shaking with need and hunger, her body no longer rationalizing or delineating between pleasure and pain, everything merging into one simple perception.   She barely hears him.

Master Michael:  And so I’d pick the woman down the hall, or the pretty little brunette at the office, who walks out with the tall and gorgeous blond each day.  I’d pick the soft and demure, middle-aged, mother who bundles her kids out the door each morning, only to spend the rest of her day wishing something sexual would happen.  It’s the waitress in the diner, tired and wanting to be swept off her feet.  It is the stewardess, who spends more time in the air than she does in a bed, and needs a sensual backrub every night in order to sleep quietly.  It’s the paralegal who quivers in anticipation at the thought of slipping in the ben wa balls before going to work at my command, wondering if she’ll be caught.  Those are my fantasy women.

      And then suddenly he stops, pulling away the massager just as she is about to explode.  Her mouth opens in a cry of protest, begging him to continue, to take her, to screw her, to fuck her brains out, to do ANYTHING he WANTS to.  And as the urgency and desperation and wild abandon begin to break down, the adrenaline ebbing, the utter disappointment of her situation brings quiet sobs to her throat.  He pats her gently.

Master Michael:  I accept your orgasm.  And deny it to you.

      Ten minutes later he releases her ankles from the restraints, followed by her wrists, and when she sits up, slightly angry at being denied release, he hands her a terry cloth bathrobe.  She wraps it around herself. 

Bookaddict: That’s it?  That’s all I get?

Master Michael:  That’s all you negotiated for.  But honestly Bookaddict, I’m sure you’ll eventually come up with more questions, and we can conduct another interview.  Hopefully with similar results.

      He hands her the notebook and she takes it sullenly.


Bookaddict: How do readers find you if they’re looking for…

      Michael Alexander laughs and leans back against the table. 

Master Michael:  I’m rather easy to get a hold of.  They can visit my website at www.michaelalexanderstories.com and get a feel for how I write and the deviant secrets that I, and hopefully they, might find arousing.  They might bump into some of my stories on the BDSM Library, or Amazon.com, or even Barnes&Noble.com.  They can visit my BDSM Blog, or my BDSM Review Blog, and I also run three different Tumblr blogs: http://michaelalexanderstories.tumblr.com/; http://ridingthewoodenhorse.tumblr.com/; and http://creamofvenus.tumblr.com/.  I’m also on facebook, though Breanne is our twitter tweeter.  Last but not least, friends and foes alike can email me at michael@michaelalexanderstories.com.  I welcome personal correspondence, but warn everyone: you might end up in my next novel.

Bookaddict: Fans herself and stands up unsteadily  Thank you for a most unique interview with an author.  I'll be sure to invite you again next time with more questions.  *winks*  Now you all know where to find Mr. Alexander, just be careful how you approach him…you may receive more you asked for.

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