cindy@cindyjacks.com
Prior to becoming a writer of romantic
and erotic fiction, Cindy went to college at the University of Hawaii at Manoa
and graduated with a BFA in Art. After a brief attempt at an art career, she
decided the ‘starving artist’ life wasn’t for her. She worked for ten years in
the corporate arena, but now spends her days as a full time author.
Her
first published work--The Point of Distraction Series--was inspired by a
collection of short stories she wrote to entertain her best friend. Since then
she's explored her inner bad girl, producing books full of humor and packed
with real emotion.
When
not chained to her laptop, she enjoys belly dancing, international cooking, and
making jewelry. She and her family make their home in the Washington, DC area.
BLACKEST NIGHTS
BDSM curious, Georgia aka Red, attends a lunch meeting of
the Rocky Road Social Club where she meets a dom who introduces himself as
Black. Tall, caramel-skinned and truly gorgeous, Red is drawn in by Black’s
commanding presence.
After one dinner together, Red agrees to explore a weekend
as Black’s sub. He pushes her to the limits of pain, pleasure and beyond.
Though she delights in his firm hand and even firmer lash, when Black proposes
a more permanent arrangement, Red wonders if she’s ready to submit―body and
soul―to the man who dominates her blackest desires.
STORY EXCERPT
I didn’t know what would greet me as she
opened the door. I half expected heavy metal music to roar in the background
and men in gimp suits or slaves on leashes to skulk around their masters’ feet,
but the scene was
nothing like that. Instead, a group of fairly ordinary folks milled about,
cocktails and plates in hand.
Sure, there were some people with alarming
piercings, some with brightly colored hair and some wearing collars, but most
looked just as vanilla as the other patrons in the main dining room. And no one
sported a gimp suit.
Mildly disappointed, I thanked the hostess
and slipped into the room.
A beautiful older woman with dyed black
hair in a black dress and black Doc Martens greeted me with a toothy smile.
“Welcome, welcome. I’m Rocky and this is my little family. Nice to see a new
face here.”
She took my hand and patted it.
A lump so large I couldn’t breathe formed
in my throat. “I-I…”
“Relax, dear.” She rubbed my back. “You’re
among friends.”
“Thanks,” I croaked. “I’m Georgia.”
“Is that how you want to be known? Most of
us use choose a play name, but since this is a your first time we can go with
Georgia.”
A play name? I hadn’t even thought of
that. Online, I’d chosen the username “CuriousGeorgia” but I didn’t think it
appropriate going forward.
I ran a hand over my auburn curls. “How
about Red?”
“That’ll work.” Rocky clapped her hands,
drawing the attention of the group. “Everyone, meet Red. She’s a novice so play
nice…or nicely naughty.”
Some of the others flipped waves at me or
smiled, but most went back to their conversations.
“Get yourself a drink and mingle a bit,”
Rocky said, squeezing my shoulder. Then she waved at someone across the room.
“Nice to meet you, Red.”
As soon as Rocky left, several men walked
up. I felt like a wounded fish in the middle of a feeding frenzy. Sharks of all
shapes and sizes schooled around me.
“Are you here to meet anyone specific?”
“Is this really your first munch?”
“What kind of play are you interested in?”
“Dom, sub or switch?”
Rapid-fire questions came from every
direction and I didn’t know what to say. Searching the room for Rocky, I saw
she was on the opposite side, deep in conversation.
Near the banquet table, a tall man with a
caramel-colored complexion, cropped black hair and stunning bone structure
stared at me. Well, not so much stared as he seemed to be drinking in the buzz
around me. The cut of his shirt and slacks spoke of a man with a personal
tailor. The clothing skimmed the outline of his well-maintained form without
clinging too tightly. His calculating gaze pierced me. I blinked, trying to
turn my attention to the bevy of men around me.
“I’m really new at this.” I put out my
hands, the universal sign for back away, but this only seemed to intrigue them
more.
Showing up here might have been a mistake.
I’d been reticent to dive into the lifestyle for this very reason. But what did
I expect? Doms dominated. It was their nature. The fable about the scorpion and
the frog flashed through my mind. I felt even more absurd and out of place.
But then he materialized in the midst of
the throng. Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome. A mere flick of his wrist dispersed
the other men, no objections.
“Wow. Thanks.” I drew the tie of my
wraparound dress through my fingers.
He stared at me without reply, handing me
a flute of champagne, his hazel eyes never wavering. A gulp of the bubbly wine
steadied my nerves.
“I’m Red.” I extended a hand, which he
declined to shake.
“You can call me Black.” His lips twisted
into a predatory grin. “Or ‘sir’ works just as well.”
My pulse quickened, pounding so hard I
found it difficult to breathe. It was as if he’d drawn all the oxygen out of
the room.
“What side are you on?” he asked.
The meaning of his question took a second
to register―he was asking me if I was a domme or sub.
“I don’t know yet,” I mumbled.
“Oh, you know. You’re just afraid to say
it aloud.” He brushed his thumb over my lips. Flinching at the overly intimate
gesture, I shifted from foot to foot.
Leaning closer, he rested a hand my
forearm. Fingertips brushing my skin, he murmured, “I can make you scream out
which side you play on.”
A rush of breath escaped me―not so much an
exhalation, but my body’s way of saying Yes, please, I’d like that very much.
My cheeks burning, my cunt equally as hot, I met his gaze.
He plucked a napkin from the table,
scribbling a few lines on it. “Meet me here next Friday at eight. Don’t be
late.”
His stare fixed on mine, he paused a
second. Maybe he was waiting for my reply or maybe the eye contact was for
emphasis. My head swam, a thousand thoughts swirling around my brain. My body
buzzed with excitement. Black was the one. No doubt about it.
“I’ll be there.” I took the napkin.
“I know you will.”
With that, he walked away and I watched
his retreat, his confident strides hypnotic
ADULT EXCERPT
At
8:55, I knocked on his door. I heard him moving inside the house, but he didn’t
answer.
A
couple minutes passed and still I stood on his porch, the crickets chirping in
the cooling night air. Maybe he hadn’t heard my knock. I rang the doorbell.
Another
minute or so passed and every second that ticked by left me feeling foolish.
Why was he making me wait? Finally out of patience, I fished my cell phone out
of my purse and hit the auto-dial for his number.
As
soon as Black jerked open the door, I knew I’d made a mistake. His lips
downturned, his eyes narrowed, he folded his arms over his chest.
The
intensity of his stare unnerved me.
Fixing
my gaze on the ground, I offered an explanation though he hadn’t demanded one,
“I wanted to be sure I was on time.”
“But
you aren’t on time, you’re early. Nine o’clock means nine o’clock.”
“Oh.
I’m sorry.”
“Go
into the dining room and sit.” He moved aside to let me pass. “To your left.”
Hurrying
to do as instructed, I didn’t have much time to take in the decor of the house.
Once I’d taken a seat, I studied the austerity of the mission-style dining
table, chairs and china cabinet. One massive photo―at least four feet by six
feet―hung on an otherwise bare wall. It depicted a close-up of a fig sliced in
half. So suggestive of female genitalia was the imagery that I found myself
averting my eyes, sneaking furtive glances. Every time I dared to look at it
for more than a couple of seconds, my cheeks burned and butterflies flitted
around my stomach.
The
door clicked shut and I heard his footsteps head in the opposite direction.
Then he returned, his cell phone in hand. Drawing his finger across the screen,
he turned it so I could read. The glowing display showed his call log.
“Read
the most recent entry,” he said.
“It
says Red.”
“And
is it an incoming call or an outgoing one?”
“Incoming,”
I mumbled. I knew exactly what I’d done wrong.
“I
said never to call me.” He grabbed me by the hair and I flinched more out of surprise than
pain. He wasn’t pulling all that hard…yet.
“I’m
sorry.” I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, excited by the control he
exerted over me.
Setting
the phone aside, he moved behind me. Leaning down, he let his lips brush past
my ear. I could feel his breath on my cheek and neck. Inhaling his cologne, I
closed my eyes, my heartbeat quickening.
“You don’t listen.” He tightened his
grasp, shaking me a little. I gasped, the pain sharper now, the throbbing of my
pussy radiating throughout my body.
I didn’t reply, struggling to suppress a
smile though I couldn’t figure out just why I felt like grinning.
“What’s funny?” He tugged at my hair.
The tug hurt so much my eyes watered.
“Nothing.”
“Say it. Say, ‘I don’t listen’.” His hand
my head held back, forcing me to make eye contact.
“I―” My voice cracked, arousal and agony
gripping my throat. “I don’t listen.”
“Do you need me to make you?”
“Yes…please.” My legs trembled, my pussy
quivering at the thought of what he would do to punish me.
Pulling me up and bending me over the
table, he pressed my cheek to the cool surface, hand still tangled in my hair,
but he’d eased up on the agonizing hold.
The skirt I’d taken so much care to pick
out wound up crumpled around my waist. He ripped off my panties then caressed
the swell of my ass. I heard the jangle of his belt buckle and the whoosh of it sliding out of his belt
loops. Oh God, he was going to―
Crack!
I cried out and squirmed, the initial
sting so intense I could hardly stand it, but he held me down.
Crack!
The belt smacked against my ass, heat
spreading over the entire cheek. I yelped and whimpered. A sharp burning
sensation ran along the junction of my buttock and my thigh and I was sure he’d
given me a welt. The thought turned me on to no end. I was bare-assed, splayed
out across a table and one of the most gorgeous men I’d ever met was punishing
me. Oh yes, I wanted more.
Another crack of the belt and I could feel
my juices wetting my pussy lips. The pain transformed from an unpleasant
sensation to the heat of a lover’s touch. Instead of a cry of objection, I
moaned, writhing against the table.
“You like that?” He growled the words, his
voice even deeper than usual.
“Yes.” I arched my back, thrusting my ass
toward him.
“Yes, what?” He caught me by the hair
again.
“Yes sir.”
He whipped my buttock again and I called
out, the skin raw now. My cunt contracted, so swollen and wet he could have
easily slid inside me, no more foreplay needed, but I knew he wouldn’t give me
that kind of pleasure yet. I hadn’t earned it.
“Your pretty little ass is the most lovely
shade of red.”
I felt him drop to his knees, running his
tongue over the areas that stung the most. A hiss escaped me. Parting my labia
with two fingers, he swiped at my slit.
“You’re so wet. You’re going to be fun to
play with.”
I panted, desperate that he continue my
training, but instead he righted my skirt and helped me up. Swiping the finger
coated in my cream over my lips, he moved in for a kiss. His tongue flicked at
the musky fluid then plunged inside my mouth. I inhaled the scent of pussy
mingled with his cologne unable to get enough of the heady scent.
