Spotlight
BLITZ with authors Liv Honeywell
and
Domitri Xavier
Hello
everyone. I have two great posts to share with you today. Welcome to
the first one. I was intrigued by this book and wanted to share it
with you because it was different from most books that I have come
across. Perhaps not so different with its BDSM and erotic content,
but different in the way that it is presented. THE JOURNAL is told
from the perspective of both MCs. Written as it would be documented
in a true journal, this book switches from one perspective to the
other throughout the story. Rather than being told from one person,
we (the reader), get to see the personal thoughts of both Livia and
her Master in each situation. I could quite possibly be making a muck
up of this explanation, so I will direct you to the excerpt which
adequately demonstrates what I am trying to convey. And so, without
further adieu, please allow me to welcome to the blog:
**LIV
HONEYWELL**
**BIO**
When
not writing about delicious, hot male dominants and the female subs
who love them, I’m usually doing something craft-like, reading,
baking, eating the results of said baking, and attempting to satisfy
the demands of His High and Mighty Dominance (the cat!). My first
story, Imagine, was published with Silver Moon Books last year and
Coming, Ready or Not is my first solo book. The Journal was
co-written with Domitri Xavier.
You
can find out more about Ms. Honeywell at the following places:
**DOMITRI
XAVIER**
**BIO**
Domitri
Xavier comes from a rich heritage, including Russia, France and
Yorkshire. He is the quintessential English gentleman and lives alone
in his cavernous mansion, Upton Abbey.
Domitri
is not only a writer, composer, pianist, raconteur, wit and poet, he
also enjoys a number of hobbies; he breeds Basset Hounds, plays chess
(although he has yet to record a victory) and he is a renowned
collector of used tea bags – Earl Grey, naturally.
He
fills his remaining time writing erotic fiction, much of it based on
his own lifestyle at the Abbey.
The
Journal is his first book and his poems have been published on Bitten
Press’s website
You
can find out more about Mr. Xavier at the following places:
**THE
JOURNAL**
**BLURB**
“Come
to my study at eight o’clock sharp. Dress for dinner. Wear high
heels and put on that dress – you know what I expect of you.”
When
the order comes Livia is torn between anticipation and dread.
Does
he know? How could he possibly know what she has done? And how can
she find the words and the courage to tell him?
As
eight o’clock edges ever nearer, Livia waits outside the study
door, trembling; uncertain of what she will find when she comes face
to face with her Master.
If
he knows… If he does, there will be consequences. There is
no doubt about that.
What
will be the price for her moment of disobedience?
Buy
Links
**EXCERPT**
By
reading any further you are stating you are at least 18 years of age.
If
you are under the age of 18, it is necessary for you to exit this
site.
He
heard the knock on the door of his study. This was her signal that
she had complied with all his instructions, not a request to enter.
She would come in when he said so and she would never dare to knock
again.
He
had asked her to dress immaculately, smartly; as if they were going
to dinner. Her hair must be perfect, away from her face. Her make up
flawless, perhaps to look a little tarty, but she would know how far
to go and the penalties for going over the top. She would be wearing
elegant, high heeled shoes.
He
told her to come in, gently, softly; as if she were merely coming in
for a coffee or cocktails. Immediately she stepped into the room;
looking down with her hands behind her. She would never look at his
face directly without his express permission.
"Come
to me."
She
had no idea what to expect. Would he be soft and tender? Or would he
sweep her off her feet by mauling her like an animal. She knew that
her body was his and he could treat it in any way that pleased him.
He
ran his fingers through her hair, gently folding it back and forth
and her head moved with his every gesture. Then he thrust his fingers
deep toward her skull and tugged at her hair, moving her head in all
directions. She let out an involuntary squeal.
"This
is no time for making such noises."
The
quiet scream stopped immediately. She was under his power, his
presence; his dominance. There was never any doubt about it.
He
put his hands over her eyes and closed them, turning her face
downwards. With effortless ease, he bound her hands behind her by her
wrists and elbows. He loved the way that this pushed her breasts
forwards and outwards. He had no need to bind her but it pleased him;
a bound woman was an aesthetic pleasure.
He
put one hand over her mouth. The other roamed over every contour of
her body; her pouting breasts, her waist, behind her neck. He moved
to her pussy and felt that it was already wet. Then both hands
wandered quickly and powerfully over her whole body. She let out a
yelp of pleasure which he immediately silenced with his strong
fingers. She was his to do with as he wished.
He
turned away from her, then turned back to look. She was beautiful.
She was his. Her pain would be his pleasure...
________________
I
knocked on the study door, quietly, almost hesitantly. I knew so well
the knots in the wood, the whorls and lines of the grain. How many
times had I stood here, gazing at this door; trying to guess what
would happen when I opened it?
I
wondered how long he would have me wait. I didn't know what to think.
Did he somehow know what I'd done? Had he been waiting for me to tell
him, giving me the chance to own up? Hoping that I would before he
had to make me? I couldn’t imagine how he could know, but... he had
sounded distracted earlier. Not like himself.
I'd
so wanted to confess. I really had. I'd tried all day yesterday. I'd
tried today as well but I couldn’t make myself say it. I didn't
want to see the look of disappointment in his eyes, the awful
expression on his face that would come from knowing I'd done
something absolutely forbidden.
And…
and I was scared of the punishment, of how bad it would be. And now
I’d made it worse. Not only for me but for him too. For how much
more I’d let him down by not telling him the truth.
I
hoped I could find the nerve to say it now. Maybe I could find a way
to explain, though I wasn't sure I could explain it to myself. What
on earth had I done?
I
hoped he would allow me to speak, or I wouldn't be able to say a
word, not even to confess. What would I do then? Wait until he was
done with me and then tell him? Wait until he had used my body,
whichever way he chose; wait until he had given me pleasure which I
surely didn't deserve?
Then
what? If I couldn't find the nerve now, if I hadn't found it earlier,
what on earth made me think I would find it then?
I
reached out and lightly traced the pattern of the wood with a finger
tip. My hand was trembling and I slowed my breathing, doing my best
to relax.
Then
I heard his voice; such a beautiful deep voice, so calm and gentle.
It gave me no clue to what he was thinking, to what he would do this
time.
I
took a deep breath and pushed open the door, closing it quietly
behind me; keeping my eyes lowered the whole time. I clasped my hands
behind my back and waited.
"Come
to me," he said.
'Always,'
I thought. 'Whenever you wish it.' I didn't say it, of course. I knew
better than to speak without permission.
I
kept my hands behind my back and walked over to him, my high heels
clicking on the hard wood floor. I dared not look at him, but I so
wanted to. Perhaps for reassurance that he wouldn't hurt me, although
I knew he would; perhaps to see if the gentleness in his voice was
there in his eyes; perhaps to search for something, anything in his
expression to tell me what he was thinking.
He
lifted a hand toward my face and I tried not to flinch, but he merely
stroked my hair, twining his fingers through the length of it. I
began to relax, leaning my head into his hand, until he grabbed a
handful of hair close to my scalp and pulled hard, and I couldn't
help letting out a small squeak of surprise.
"This
is no time for making such noises," he said, still so calmly, so
controlled, and I bit back the sound, unable to rid myself of the
feeling that this was the calm before the storm.
His
fingers gently covered and closed my eyes, and then I stood quietly
while he tied my hands behind my back. Now I couldn't even see what
was coming, and even if I could, I was helpless to prevent it.
He
clamped his hand firmly over my mouth, stopping even the chance to
protest, as his other hand explored my body, stroking and caressing -
over my breasts, across my hips, between my legs. I blushed as I
realised he must know how aroused I was.
He
released my mouth and inspected my body with both hands, squeezing my
breasts and my bottom, stroking my face, touching between my legs
once more. I moaned softly and he covered my mouth again, muffling
any noise I might make.
Was
I not to be allowed even the slightest sound? To have to keep silent
no matter what he might do to me? The thought of his control made me
shiver and I swallowed hard, trying to hold back a sudden rush of
desire. I tried to still myself, wondering if he had noticed.
Of
course. Of course he had. He noticed everything. I wondered if it
would make a difference to what he would do. If it pleased him that I
couldn't hide my reactions or if I would be punished for moving,
however slightly?
He
stepped away from me and I waited for what would come...
Well,
I think that the excerpt did a much better job than I did with my
poor attempt at explanation. I have a read a couple of books that
were presented in a similar fashion, but not through the means of a
journal. I found those stories to be a bit more engaging because I
was able to experience the thoughts and feelings of more than one
character as they experienced each situation. But at the same time,
if I allowed my attention to wane even the slightest bit, I became
confused when I forgot which character's eyes I was now reading
through. So I would think that the reader would have to pay attention
when the perspectives switched so as not to become disoriented. In
any case, I really want to know what you all think of this type of
format. Have you read anything similar? What did you think? Would you
read something like this? Have you read anything from either of these
authors before? If you remember, I did feature Ms. Honeywell just a
couple of shorts weeks ago. Perhaps you read that anthology. Your
feedback is always welcome so feel free to share your thoughts.
I
want to thank Mr. Xavier and Ms. Honeywell for being here today. And
a special thanks to all of your fabulous readers who continue to
revisit the blog. You all make it worth it! If you enjoyed what you
experienced here today, would you please consider purchasing a copy
of the book for yourself? Showing support to the authors is very
important and that is the number one way to do so. I hope you all
enjoyed yourselves today and wish everyone a fantastic day! Be sure
to check out the second post of the day before you leave us. See you
all soon! Until then ...
HAPPY
READING!!!
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