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Expecting Surrender: Dominion Trust, Book III

By: Trent Evans
Published By: Shadow Moon Press
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Forty-five Chapters / 135,000 Words
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They’d called it The Game. An intriguing truth or dare, a little spice to an already hot sexual chemistry between two married professionals. But what started as a mere game evolved into something so much more, a dark, exciting adventure into serious power exchange. It soon became the center of their lives, the beating, lust- fueled heart of their sexual relationship. 

It was an exploration of pleasure, of pain, of elemental desire. A married couple diving deep into the waters of Dominance and submission. Like forbidden fruit, The Game had opened their eyes to the primal drives, the animal lusts lurking within each of them — and they knew they’d never be the same again. 

Then came the day she’d received the surprise news... in the form of a positive pregnancy test. 

Now Keihl and Kirsten, deeply in love, facing a profound, joyful change in their lives, must contemplate the prospect of putting aside The Game, just when things are really heating up. After all, pregnancy and BDSM are utterly incompatible. Right? 

Or was there a way to have both? Perhaps Kirsten’s pregnancy might open up an entirely new world to them within the alluring, lust- drenched context of a loving, yet strict, Dominance and submission dynamic? Perhaps the pregnancy might change them both in ways neither of them yet understand

Two lovers will discover if Dominance and submission, if pain and pleasure, and finding the real people they are inside is indeed still possible, now that a baby is on the way... 

Publisher's Warning: Intended for mature readers. 18 and over only! 

This is a contemporary MF BDSM erotic romance. The novel contains the following themes: explicit sexuality, pervasive D/s, exhibitionism, spanking, bondage, and other BDSM activities. If such content might offend you, please do not purchase this book.

Prologue

THWICK

God, he’s not warming up this time.

Not that she was surprised. Gentle and merciful were not qualities she’d usually ascribe to her beloved husband. But this is what they’d both agreed she needed.

“I’m waiting, Kirsten.” His voice was a soft rumble behind her.

“One, Sir,” she said, gasping as the stroke blazed fire across her bottom.

“Good girl.”

He tapped the cane lower, directly across the tender junction of her thighs and buttocks. She hated the cane there, which was precisely why he liked it there.

“Now, more quickly this time, or we’ll need to repeat the stroke.”

So reasonable, so matter of fact.

Ruthless.

Another stroke landed, right on that spot. She jerked, her stocking-clad thighs whispering together as the pain rose again.

“Two, Sir,” she said, quickly.

She wanted to jump up and down, to shake the sting out of her tender cheeks.

“That’s better, Kirsten.”

The warning tap of the cane made her still once more. Waiting.

The stroke sliced in almost directly atop the previous one. She whined through clenched teeth as she called out the third cut of the cane, her bound hands clenched into fists at the small of her back. The heaviness underlying the burn of the stroke told her the tram-line was developing. Probably just a ghost under her pale skin now, but in a few minutes, she knew it would be a swollen violet. Just the way her husband liked.

The fourth stroke landed, burning like fire across the center of both globes. She rose up on her toes, her calves knotting.

Jesus! How many this time...

“What did we talk about?” His voice was deceptively gentle. “Heels back on the floor. No fidgeting.”

Kirsten exhaled a ragged breath, willing herself to relax. She knew he wouldn’t continue until she did, so she lowered back to the floor, her legs taut as bowstrings.

“Very good.” His fingers traced the swelling weals.

Kirsten groaned as the next stroke whipped in, blessedly higher, but still burning miserably. She knew he was watching, enjoying the movement of her hips as she twisted and swayed them to try to deal with the hurt.

“That’s enough, dear,” he said, patting her hip. “You don’t want to upset my aim, do you?”

She wanted nothing else but to do just that, but she knew better.

“Yes, K— Sir. I’m sorry.”

Her breasts throbbed insistently underneath her, their pale curves pressed firmly into the bed. He had considerately laid a thick terry cloth bath towel on the mattress before cuffing her wrists behind her back and ordering her over for her visit with the cane.

She wanted to believe the gesture was for her comfort, but she rather thought it was just to keep her from staining the expensive sheets.

Her swollen breasts were the reason why the cane was currently slicing into her vulnerable cheeks in the first place.

It had started when she’d decided to call him at the office...

* * *

“K eihl Warren, what can I do for you?”

“Hi, Keihl. Do — you have a minute to talk?”

“Kirsten? You okay?”

“Yes — I mean no. Are you alone?”

Keihl sighed. “Dear, you called me at the office in the middle of the day.”

She gulped. Anytime she heard that deceptive calmness sneak into his voice, the use of words such as ‘dear’, it meant she was moving into potentially dangerous waters.

“Maybe I can just call back when you can get away—”

“Kirsten, what is it?”

“Is anyone around you? Can they hear?”

She could hear voices in the background on Keihl’s end. They sounded close.

“You should have thought about that before calling me, dear. Spill it.”

She could feel the flush creeping up her neck, but there was nothing for it.

“I was thinking. Do you think we could... stop them?”

“Them? What are you talking about?”

“Keihl,” she breathed. “You know...”

“Oh.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “Let me think about it. For now, let’s keep going.”

So nonchalant!

It was if he were considering whether or not to continue a gym membership or something.

“Keihl. It’s been almost a year.”

“That’s all? I’m just getting used to it.”

She sighed. “Please, Keihl. They hurt.”

His low chuckle rumbled over the line. “We all have to sacrifice for love, my dear.”

Yeah, right. She had to sacrifice. He got to benefit.

“Besides”, he said. “It’s been great. I love them.”

To be fair it wasn’t all sacrifice on her part. He’d been an animal since they’d agreed to keep them going. Well, he’dagreed, really. She just did as she was told.

“At least let me take care of them while you’re gone during the day. It’s so hard.”

“I know it is. You should see it right now, as I picture them. Nice and sore, aren’t they? I’m glad I’m sitting down.”

“Keihl, please—

There was a loud jostling on Keihl’s end, and she heard his voice say: “I’ll take a look at it in a sec, Dave”, then “Yeah, it’s Kirsten.”

“Honey, we’ll talk about this when I get home,” he said, his voice deepening another octave. “I think we’ll need to talk about what reasons are good ones for calling me at the office. Telling me your boobs are full and achy is not one of them. You had me concerned that you were hurt or in danger.”

Please God, tell me Dave didn’t hear him say that.

She felt like sinking into the floor.

“Keihl, they’re killing me. Can I at least take care of them once before you get home?”

“I’ll take care of them when I get there, Kirsten. Just like we agreed. Unfortunately, you’re probably going to have more than sore tits after we talk. See you tonight, honey.”

He hung up.

Hanging her head, her heart racing, she dreaded her husband’s arrival as much as she looked forward to it.

Relief from her pain would come — but with a price.

Chapter One

18 Months Earlier

“S tan, you’ve gotta work with me here. Three months will never fly.”

Keihl tucked the phone’s receiver between neck and shoulder, and picked up the steaming mug of coffee on his desk. He hissed as some of the hot liquid sloshed out onto his wrist.

“The initial EIS won’t even be done by then. Give me six and we can do it.”

Stan’s voice was silent a moment. “Six months? Keihl, you can do better than that. My investors need a quick turn on this development. Six months is not acceptable.”

Keihl winced, dropping his head back. “Okay, five months, with overtime.”

The prospect of putting in extra time on this job was slightly less appealing than a root canal.

“I don’t care about cost. My investors don’t either. Time is what they care about.”

“Four and a half months is the absolute best I can do. It’s gonna cost you though. That gives me maybe two weeks after the EIS comes in.”

Stan sighed. “Deal. Look, just get it done, and there’ll be a nice thank you with our final payment. I gotta go.”

The line went dead before Keihl could protest further.

Shit.

“Did I hear you say overtime?”

His admin assistant, Ella, leaned a shoulder against the doorway to his office. Her dark hair was pulled back, the glasses she favored not quite hiding the beauty of her face. The way her navy blue sweater and matching skirt clung to her buxom frame didn’t do anything to hide her beauty either.

“Was the call that loud?”

“Not really. I was eavesdropping.”

“At least you’re honest.” Keihl leaned back in his chair, the squeak in one of the wheels getting worse. “Stan Broughton wants us to review, and draw up a formal response to the environmental impact statement for the Coal Creek development.”

He fished around through the stacks of documents on his desk until he found the latest package of plans. He tossed them to Ella, who caught the file without batting an eye. She opened it, her keen eyes scanning it quickly.

“Oh, this should be interesting,” she said. “There’s a wetland adjacent to the southeast corner, right?”

Keihl scratched his chin. “Try the entire south side.”

Ella looked up. “Um, that’s a cow pasture.”

“It was a cow pasture. Look at the appendix. Somebody at state ecology just had it reclassified as a wetland too.”

“Sucks to be that farmer.” She set the file back down on his desk, her pink painted nails tapping the paper. “Where’s he gonna feed ol’ Betsy now?”

“I’d kill to have his problems.” Keihl snatched up the file and slipped it into his laptop case. He looked up at Ella. “Stan wants the response in eighteen weeks.”

She whistled. “Good thing I don’t have a boyfriend. Looks like I’m gonna be living here for the next few months.”

“This job is your boyfriend.”

Ella frowned, turning for the door. “Don’t remind me.”

“Come on, you love it here.”

“I’m leaving, boss.”

Keihl laughed as the door closed behind her.

He’d signed up for this, of course. Having a real estate development consortium as a client had its upsides, of course. Pay rate for the firm was great, and other than the sorts of calls he’d just had to endure, he really didn’t have a particularly difficult client. Most of the time they were completely hands-off. But the work was never-ending, and every time it felt like he’d caught up, another huge development would get cranked up, and the senior partners would shunt it off to the junior associate — who happened to be him. He wasn’t the only environmental lawyer at the firm, but he was the best — and his bosses knew it. Which was why the work kept pouring in.

No good deed goes unpunished , right Keihl?

He looked over at the picture of Kirsten, his fingers stroking the caramel wood frame. Her long dark hair was whipping in the wind in the photo, her pretty eyes squinting a little against the sun. It looked like he’d be seeing even less of his gorgeous wife in the coming days — by far the worst part of this job.

“Shit.”

Turning back to his desk, he brought up the plat for the development on his monitor, already mentally counting the hours until he might be able to get out of the fucking office.

As he worked, he wondered if she’d make another of her… requests. He’d come to look forward to them, even if they still surprised him. Maybe it was better if she didn’t, since it appeared he was going to be chained to his desk for another eighteen weeks.

A faint buzz sounded from his coat hanging from the back of his chair. He plucked his phone from the pocket. A text from Kirsten.

He opened it, and groaned, putting the heel of his hand to his mouth.

A picture was included, showing Kirsten in a faded, worn white t-shirt. She’d had the day off today, and sent him off to the office that morning with a sleepy, but lingering, kiss. She’d been wearing that same shirt and a pair of his pajama bottoms. In the picture, the shirt had been pulled taut against her breasts, the points of her very hard nipples prominently displayed.

He smiled as he hit send, his cock already hard at the thought of taking those nipples of hers in his fingers, her cries of pain gasped into his mouth as he kissed her.

Kirsten’s reply came back in seconds.

<They’re out right now. Waiting for you.>

Fuck. Me.

This had started a month ago, when, out of the clear blue, Kirsten had texted him at work. What had begun with racy texts, became racy photos, and eventually a few actual calls. She’d said it was somehow easier to do that way, to be more honest about what she wanted, when he was away. He didn’t question it — because he felt the same way. How absurd was it that two married people needed that “arm’s length” separation to really get honest about what they wanted? It didn’t matter though. What mattered was that it was happening. Sure it was baby steps now, but he looked forward to what might come next, because recently they’d embarked on something he’d dubbed “The Game”. Little more than a series of little tasks, at first — one night she does anything her husband asks; another morning she agrees to wear whatever he’s picked out for her — that escalated slowly, but surely. Over time The Game had… evolved. What began as something playful had become something ever more serious — and kinky.

And it was the most fun he’d ever had playing any game.

< Put that shirt back on. I don’t want you giving a show to the neighbors. Not unless I’m there to watch too.>

His mouth went dry, and for the thousandth time, he wished he could be home with her, to give her more than she’d bargained for.

He wasn’t sure if he’d crossed the line with that one, but his throbbing erection sure didn’t care. He smiled as her response — another picture — flashed on the screen.

She’d put the shirt back on, the upper swells of her breasts quite visible as she stretched the neckline down for him.

Keihl groaned, dropping the phone on his desk and adjusting his aching erection.

Watching that clock was going to kill him.

* * *

H e found her in the living room, curled up on the couch under a splash of warm yellow lamplight, a book in one hand, her long delicate fingers of the other playing with a glass of white wine. The TV was off, moody classical music playing.

“Is that Wagner?” He laid his coat over the arm of the couch.

“Try Strauss, dear.”

He bent over the back of the couch, and she lifted her face for his kiss.

“You’re lucky I can even pronounce Wagner.”

He moved past, dropping into the recliner across the living room from her.

“Do the senior partners know you’re working until eleven at night?” She gave him a frown. “Please tell me this is worth it.”

Keihl shrugged. “I’m not sure much of anything is noticed up in that ivory tower. But there’s one thing they donotice. Results.”

“You sound like my sales director.”

“As long as the junior associate gets the shit done, said junior associate stays in the good graces.” He lifted a finger toward her. “Good graces mean said junior associate is on the radar.”

“Staying in their good graces is hell on our sex life.”

Keihl winced. “I’m sorry. I know this… sucks. But it’ll pay off.”

She closed her book, her eyes assessing as she sipped from her wine. “I hope so. With the hours you’re keeping, we’re going to go into debt paying off my battery bills.”

“I can’t believe you just said that. Joely’s rubbing off on you.”

“Not yet,” she said, giving him a warm smile. “But I’m starting to consider her tactics. Or at least her coping skills.”

“Come here, Kirsten.”

“It’s time for bed—”

“Come. Here.”

Kirsten gazed at him a moment, then rose, dropping the paperback on the seat next to her, her wine glass dangling from two fingers. She walked slowly over to him, her see-through tee shirt long ago changed out for a cream colored knit top, her long skirt wrinkled on one hip from sitting — and waiting — for far too long. She stood before him, a hand on her hip. He could just make out her enticing perfume, the one she put on only for him.

“The Game?”

She sighed, her tongue between her perfect white teeth. “What about it?”

“Did you do it?”

“I suppose if you’d come home earlier you’d have found out.”

Tonight had been one of the nights where he’d decided to up the ante on The Game. But he still wasn’t sure she’d actually done it. Especially when he’d rolled in practically in the middle of the night.

“Answer me, Kirsten,” he said, his voice lowering to a rumble. His cock stirred at the defiance he saw flash in her eyes.

Or maybe she’s just pissed at you.

“I did it.” She gave him a little quirk of her lips. “I just wish a certain someone had been here to appreciate it.”

“But I do appreciate it — and I’m here now.”

“You’re too late,” she said, bending to kiss him on the cheek, then moving around the chair toward the hallway.

He caught her arm fast, stopping her in her tracks. She looked back at him, color in her cheeks.

“Show me.” He pulled at her arm, and she walked backward until she stood before him again, her eyes bright, the wine glass shaking in her fingers.

“I said you’re too late, Keihl.”

Pushing? This is new.

And he liked it.

He’d always liked a little defiance — something his strong wife possessed in spades anyway. As part of The Game though? This was a first.

“Show me.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, glaring up at her. “I think you know what’ll happen if I don’t get my way, don’t you?”

Her breath quickened, her little nostrils flaring.

“Why?”

“I want to see if you did as you were instructed. Now, show me.”

She handed him her wine, giving him a little smile. He downed the contents in one gulp, setting the glass on the floor.

Her fingers gathered up the fabric of the dark skirt, exposing the long legs he’d been thinking about while neck deep in reports and state statutes.

When the hem made it to mid-thigh, she stopped, giving him another flash of her eyes. “Satisfied?”

“Not even close.” He reached out, stroking the smoky stockings encasing her thigh, his fingertips easing under the hem. “All the way.”

She gave him a roll of her eyes.

“Next time you do that, you’re going over my knee.”

Her sharp intake of breath told him he’d gotten her attention.

Apparently it was his turn to try something new. He’d only spanked her once before, shortly after The Game had started. It had been a clumsy, awkward affair that left them both laughing, despite his hard cock and her wet pussy. It had been a start anyway.

The skirt continued its slow march upward until the garters came into view. He looked up at her.

“Good girl.”

Her blush made his cock come fully to throbbing attention, and he spread his legs, adjusting his slacks. Her eyes darted down to it before meeting his gaze.

“Now, can I go?”

“You’re not done yet, and you know it.” He lifted a finger slowly, giving her a cool look.

She gathered the skirt until it bunched in her fists at her waist. The spicy scent of a very naked, and very wet pussy filled his nostrils, his mouth watering. The black lace of the garter belt and the suspenders perfectly framed the nest of dense sable curls tucked between her thighs. He ran his fingers through the silky hair, watching her bite her lip as he gently tugged at it.

“Love these curls,” he said, staring at them, stroking the hair up, then down with the flat of his hand, noting the peek of her bright pink inner lips as they engorged between her plump outer labia. “I don’t understand why so many men like a shaved pussy.”

“I can take a few guesses,” she murmured.

He glanced up at her, winking. “You obeyed me.”

“You didn’t think I would?”

“As late as I was?” He gave her a sheepish grin. “I was expecting a frying pan to come flying at me.”

“The thought”—she caught her breath as his fingers slicked back her hood, revealing a very red, very erect clit— “the thought might’ve crossed my mind.”

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