The Journal (Her Master's Voice) Read online

  Get comfortable...because you will likely read this cover to cover! Liv “gets it right” here with a passionate, colorful and salivating taste of the shades that lie well beyond grey. Quick pace, rich characters and no-holds-barred fun. Be ready...because “or not” is probably not an option!

  ~ WJL, reader ~

  Strikes a good balance between graphic and stylish. It’s quite intense, and captures a scenario well. Interesting for me to read, since that type of relationship is not my style, but a good insight, and believable characters. Well done.

  ~ M. Pepper, reader ~

  From the first page, this book will have your heart pounding. Abby is deliciously tormented by her lover. Beware, you will be terribly aroused by this account. Very, very hot!

  ~ joeyred, reader ~

  I have to preface my review by saying I don’t read a lot of BDSM lit, so this is a bit of a departure for me. Of the three stories, the one I enjoyed was Ms. Honeywell’s, so I am really rating it on her merits and on her story. I have to admit, the others were not my cup of tea, and I find it hard to rate them as a group because they are so different. I was quite taken by Ms. Honeywell’s idea of a submissive woman who has only met her Dom online, and who meets him in person afterwards. To see the power he had over her, even via email, was powerful and inventive.

  ~ Rosanna Leo, Erotica Author ~

  I downloaded this book after reading the sample piece a few weeks ago. I have to say, I enjoyed Liv Honeywell’s piece very much. It was well written, elegantly written actually are the right words. The story was enticing and sensual and I would have loved to read more, but alas, it was a short story. Looking forward to more.

  ~ Natasha Knight, Erotica Author ~

  Cover design, interior book design and eBook design

  by Blue Harvest Creative

  www.blueharvestcreative.com

  The Journal

  Copyright © 2013 Liv Honeywell & Domitri Xavier

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Published by

  Honeywell Press

  ISBN-13: 978-1490972213

  ISBN-10: 1490972218

  Liv Honeywell

  Coming, Ready or Not!

  Imagine: A Collection of Stories from Silver Moon

  Domitri Xavier

  Poems published on the Bitten Press website

  did you think you were being a good girl

  when you were being such a bad girl?

  no, don’t say a word

  did you think I wouldn’t find out

  that you were reading my journal

  without my permission

  say nothing

  did you read something which hurt you?

  pained you?

  did any part of it speak of deceit to you?

  no

  of course not

  do you think me like that?

  that is the harshest cut of all

  be silent and don’t pretend those tears

  you know what will happen now, don’t you?

  no, I will not punish you

  I will not drag you over my knee

  and thrash you until you beg me to stop

  your trembling lip does not impress me

  I shall withdraw from you

  I shall leave you alone

  time to think

  on your wicked deception

  yes weep

  that is the cruellest thing I can do to you now

  go

  come back only when I tell you

  you must beg my forgiveness

  until your eyes tell me

  you are truly sorry

  say nothing

  go

  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...

  He asked her to look at him and almost before the words had left his lips her eyes were upon him; gazing, giving, willing. She could never know how beautiful she looked at that moment. That moment belonged to them and it was to see her complete loss of ego, her supplication to him and only him; that was what lent her such radiance. Her mouth was quivering and he knew why.

  At that moment he just wanted to celebrate their togetherness and he kissed her fully on the lips, firmly, with no reserve of passion or lust or desire. He felt her body. She reminded him of what it was like to melt, to go weak at the knees. She told him this with every sinew of her body, with every gentle touch of her tongue on his, the way her body leaned back into his arms, her trust absolute.

  He moved away just a little and put his hand between her legs. She was wet and he picked up moisture on the tips of his fingers. He took this to her own mouth, allowing the wetness to hover on the very corners of her lips. He knew she would never try to brush the moisture away without his consent. She stood, mouth open, wet with her own juices.

  He took his fingers further into her mouth, deeper and deeper until she gagged.

  “No!” he yelled at her.

  She cowered for a moment then stopped and allowed his fingers into her mouth, which was fully open now, just like the rest of her.

  Those prominent breasts enticed him there again. He put his hand under her dress and caressed them. He made her lick his fingers, then rubbed her nipples, gently, painlessly, lovingly. But then the pressure became firmer, stronger; irresistible, and his long, slender fingers caressed her whole breast and she fell back against his body, weak and longing. He knew she would be able to feel his erection as she slid her body against his. But he was not ready for that yet.

  “Look at me”, he said quietly and giving her no clue about what was about to happen. “Look at me”, and as soon as those trusting eyes met his, he slapped her across the face, not painfully, without aggression, but clearly marking his territory. She returned her face to look at his. He slapped her again, and again, and again. Each time her eyes came directly back to his as if saying to him, “If this pleases you, Master...” And it did please him. He struck her because it pleased him.

  How many times would she come back for more? Again, he slapped her on the cheek, one side of her face after the other, using both the palm and back of his hand. He knew that she would come back until her face burned. She would come back to please him, simply because it did please him, with no thought of herself. He kissed her again on the mouth, this time like a maniac, thrusting her face in every direction. They were both in a moment - a special moment that belonged only to them. He slapped her again then kissed her again.

  They were both aroused but she was not to show it without his permission. His hand went back between her legs and he washed her face with the dampness, smudging her lipstick like a child’s painting. Again he did it and again. He held the back of her head and lowered her so that she was almost horizontal, then he smeared her face again with her own juices. She began to cry and her tears became part of the unholy mix.

  Gently, he let her fall to the ground. She lay there, bound and helpless, her face a glorious mess because they moulded it together.

  He sat on his chair a little distance away, watching her lay as still as she could, knowing she would not dare to look in his direction...

  Look at me.”

  The words I had been half hoping for, half dreading. Would he be able to tell what I was thinking? I opened my eyes and looked up at him, letting him see how vulnerable I was before him and how much I wanted to please him. The expression on his face almost stopped my breath. There was so much love in his eyes, such emotion, and I swallowed against the lump in my throat and blinked back tears of joy mixed sickeningly with guilt. How very much I loved this man, and what I had done to him…

  He swept me into his arms and kissed me hard, his hands roaming my body again. Our tongues tangled; his determinedly invading my mouth, mine softly yielding to his touch. I leaned against him, wishing that I could hold him too. I pressed my body against his, wanting to show him how much he meant to me, hoping that would be enough.

  He broke the kiss and moved slightly, his hand slipping between our bodies to tease me between my legs again. I was soaking wet. How could I be otherwise? He did not even need to touch me to provoke this reaction. When we were together, his presence was enough and, when apart, just the thought of him was all I needed. My body was not mine any more. It responded to him, ached for him, whether I would wish it or not. I could deny him nothing.

  He lifted his hand to my mouth; his fingers wet, and gently painted my lips with my own juices. I tasted my arousal on my tongue but would have no more dared to wipe it away, than I would think to say ‘no’ to him. I stood with my mouth open, my juices trickling down my chin, awaiting his pleasure.

  He pressed his fingers further into my mouth, probing deeply and I tried to relax, to let him penetrate where he would, but I choked as his finger reached the back of my mouth. “No,” he yelled and I shrank back, mortified that I had not been able to give him what he required
of me. I hurried to open my mouth again, concentrating hard on relaxing my throat, and this time I was fully open to him.

  He removed his hand from my mouth and lifted my dress, stroking and exploring my breasts. I licked his fingers when asked and he circled my nipples so lightly and tenderly that it was almost difficult to believe that he could ever hurt me.

  His touch on my breasts roughened and he gripped them tightly, crushing my nipples. I closed my eyes, torn once again between pain and pleasure; so aroused it was close to unbearable. My knees weakened and I leaned against him, my head resting against his shoulder. I could feel the hard length of his cock pressing against my hip and I moved just a little against it, hoping, despite what I’d done, that this time he would use my body; that I would feel him deep inside me.

  “Look at me,” he said again. I looked up quickly, lovingly; gazing at him, thrilled to be allowed to look at him. Immediately he slapped me across the face. There was no warning, not even a flicker in his eyes that might have prepared me for what was to come.

  The shock snapped my head to one side. I felt sure I must be branded, his hand print burned forever into my skin for everyone to see. Branded his plaything, his toy. Why else would I bear his marks upon my skin? He knew how vulnerable this made me feel, was fully aware how much I struggled to look at him afterwards even after all this time, yet I knew he demanded absolute obedience; that he expected to use me for his pleasure. I raised my head, willingly, looking into his eyes again. I deserved to be slapped for what I had done. I couldn’t speak, could not say the words without his permission, but I hoped he could see it in my eyes. As it pleases you, my Lord, my Master… Always.

  He slapped me again and again, once more on my left cheek, again across my right. I lost count. I was lost. It took everything I had to look at him again, to hold my face ready to be slapped again or stroked, but somehow I did. I had to. For him. Ever for him. Nothing else mattered.