Don't Miss
Home / Blog / At His Will: A Dark Romance by Trent Evans

At His Will: A Dark Romance by Trent Evans

She was caught. Now she will be punished.

Alyson Hart thought nothing could be more embarrassing than being caught stealing by her boss.

She was wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong.

Bare and on display with her bottom burning and tears running down her blushing cheeks, Alyson will learn what shame really means one humiliating lesson at a time. But with every painful punishment and every disgraceful new way her quivering, naked body is used for his enjoyment, it becomes ever more difficult for her to hide the truth from him… or from herself.

She isn’t getting what she deserves. She is getting what she needs.


Publisher’s Note: At His Will includes spankings, rough sexual scenes, intense and humiliating punishments, and strong D/s themes. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.

Buy From Amazon

Read a Longer Sample

Author: Trent Evans

eBook Price: Kindle Unlimited/$4.95

Length: 82,300 words


She took a deep breath, silently glad she couldn’t see the way her breathing no doubt had her naked breasts rising and falling. He’d love that too, love the way her nipples had already hardened, the impudent tips aching, extending as if to cry out for the lash.

Her belly flip-flopped as the cool air washed over her, the flogger flailing through the space between them once, twice, a third time.

The whirring sound confused her at first, then she stiffened, waiting for the acid kiss of those leather strands. But the first few strokes were practice only, harmlessly stirring the air about her hard nipples, causing gooseflesh to erupt across her skin.

“Stay very still,” he murmured.

The flogger landed with a surprising thud across the top slopes of her breasts, and she grunted, more in surprise than anything else. In truth, the blow hardly hurt, only stinging slightly.

She knew that was soon to change.

Again, it impacted her flesh, harder this time, the weight of the leather sending her breasts bouncing upward as the falls wrapped under her flesh. He whipped each breast individually then, the strikes only stinging mildly.

A harder stroke had her jerking, her hands coming up instinctively.

“Lower them or I’ll tie them behind your back,” he barked. “At your sides.”

She obeyed, not wanting to make this worse than it had to be. The blows continued apace, evenly spaced, at about one every couple of seconds. With each one the intensity increased, heat building just under her skin, until with each fiery caress of the lash, she was whimpering.

“Stay still… let it burn.”

His voice was a gravelly, sadistic rumble, and she hated the way it made her clit almost sing with it.

Her breasts bounced to and fro continuously then, her teeth gritted, the air of each stroke making her hair jump and wave on the current. Sweat was beading at the hollow of her throat, the tickle there signifying the nearing of a shaming droplet threatening to course its lazy, meandering trail down the valley between her tormented—and now throbbing—breasts.

He paused now and again to caress her bosom, to weigh each globe in a palm, a low sound rumbling from deep in his throat as the rough pad of his thumb tested the rubbery stiffness of her hard, aching nipple.

Slickness—and shaming heat—grew between her thighs with each further punishing stripe of the flogger across her chest. Occasionally, a length of supple leather caught one of her nipples and she bit off a shriek, the white-hot pain making her clench her jaws tight, her vision going watery. But still she remained in position.

“Good girl,” he intoned, never stopping the disciplining of her soft, helpless breasts.

She was panting with exhaustion before he finished up with a final flurry of hard blows, back and forth across her tormented flesh, sending the tortured globes bounding in all directions.

Then it was over, and she hung her head, tears of relief and anguish spilling over, their tracks hot and stinging as they coursed down her heated cleavage.

The flogger was pressed firmly to the join at the top of her thighs, the short skirt doing precious little to protect the soft, seething sex from the cruel hardness of the leather.

“It’s time to admit it, don’t you think?”

“A-admit what?” Her words were breathless, little more than gasps. She didn’t know if it was from the bee-stung hurt of her breasts, or the fiery cauldron that was now her pussy.

“You want me.”

Leave a Reply