Don't Miss
Home / Blog / Submission at The Tower by Felicity Brandon

Submission at The Tower by Felicity Brandon

Submission at the Tower by Felicity BrandonThis is not a love story. This is the story of the hunger inside of me which must be fed before it consumes me entirely…

After a chance encounter with a handsome stranger introduces her to The Tower, an institution that trains women in submission, Janie McClusky is irresistibly drawn to the place. But admittance comes at a price, and soon enough Janie is utterly bare and fully on display, blushing crimson as the men at The Tower thoroughly explore her body, bringing her pain, pleasure, and shame as they see fit.

As Janie’s training begins, there is one man among the group who seems to know her own needs better than she does, and before long she finds herself yearning and even begging for his touch. But if she relinquishes control completely to this captivating stranger and allows him to break down her remaining defences, will there be any coming back at all?

Publisher’s Note: Submission at The Tower includes spankings and sexual scenes. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.

Buy From Amazon

Buy From Barnes and Noble

Buy From Kobo

Buy From Itunes

Buy From Google Play

 Read a Longer Sample

Author: Felicity Brandon

eBook Price: $4.95

Length: 64,600 words

Excerpt

“Kneel, number sixteen…”

I rise up to my knees and wait, trying not to make eye contact with any of the dozen faces that burn into my nakedness.

“Hands up behind your head,” Shaw continues, “and link your fingers, please.”

I raise my arms and link my fingers behind my head as instructed, feeling suddenly like a prisoner, totally exposed and vulnerable. Shaw wraps my hair around his left wrist and holds my head firmly in place. “Number sixteen will be well used and abused.”

I listen intently as the two men discuss my fate. The throb between my legs has become insistent and my nipples harden and ache in much the same way. Shaw is right—I do want to be used for their pleasure.

“First things first then,” says Nichols, rummaging around in his pockets. “Let’s decorate our new slut.”

I flinch inwardly as he calls me a slut again. It’s actually an accurate description of me at this moment and yet it still feels like a demeaning label. The thing is I like demeaning. Right now I like demeaning a lot…

Nichols pulls some items from his trouser pocket and walks towards us before flashing them in front of the group. It takes me a couple of moments to realise what they are, and when I do I can actually feel the dampness spreading down my inner thighs. He splays his large palm in front of me, revealing three wooden clothespins.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

*