"Marla's Submissive Secrets"

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"Marla's Submissive Secrets is another bondage and submission novel from John Savage that I've recently finished editing and publishing.

Here's a fairly lengthy extract from the start of the book:

There was silence so thick you could hear your own heart beating. Then a swishing sound, but only for a split second. Then pain exploded in my ass -- terrible pain, shocking, burning pain. I jerked hard and lost my balance and was suddenly hanging there, my feet dancing in mid-air, desperately seeking the chair as I gasped and made strange croaking sounds.
My feet found the chair and pushed up to relieve the terrible pressure on my neck. The noose loosened, for which I was grateful as I sucked in that wonderful air. I had feared when the noose had been pulled down snug around my neck that perhaps it would not loosen when my life depended upon it. But it did, and I was again standing on that wooden chair in the hot, dusty attic. My ass was still burning but that minor point had been forgotten in the struggle to get back on the chair.
As I stood there, breathing heavily and more scared then I had ever been in my life, a strange thought flashed through my mind. What did I look like, I wondered? For a second I envisioned the scene as it appeared to the man standing behind me with the whip in his hand.
First, there was the naked young woman standing on the chair. She was twenty-two years old, rather pretty, and with a wonderful ripe and full figure. Long shining black hair hung down onto her shoulders and danced around wildly when she had been struggling against the ropes. Oh, yes, there were ropes holding her prisoner, tight ropes, ropes on arms and legs, ropes from which she could never hope to loosen or break free. She was, in a word, helpless.
It had been so exciting when Tom had wrapped those ropes on my body. He did it tightly as I had instructed, cinching down all the main windings and knotting each section tightly three times before going on to restrict another part of me. First my wrists behind me, palms turned towards each other. Then my elbows, corded and pulled in tightly until I could feel the strain on my shoulders and my breasts stuck out proudly. Then my legs, above my knees and at the ankles.
Second, a rope looped around her neck, then passing up over a beam and down to a metal hook screwed into the wall for just that purpose. The rope had been pulled snug so that this naked woman had to stand very straight upon the chair.
And third, a gag filled her mouth, a rubber ball with a strap passing through it and buckled tightly behind her head. The rubber pushed down her tongue and made speech impossible. The rubber filled her mouth. This foolish woman had insisted that the man place that gag in her mouth for she wished both not to disturb the neighbors and to feel the increased helplessness from being unable to talk. And, although she did not openly state it, it was also so that she would be unable to call a halt to the torture she had ordained for herself.
Torture was the right word. The ropes were uncomfortably tight, especially those around her elbows, but the part the man was to play was much more than just binding her body. He had his orders. Stand behind the chair, a wicked looking black leather whip in his hand, and then lash the bare bottom before him ten times with all the strength of his masculine arm.
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I had only felt the kiss of that whip once, and that had been quite painful. It was thin, with a thong at the end that felt as if it were cutting the skin. I knew that long before the ten strokes were finished I would be screaming and begging him to stop. Hence the gag. Wasn’t I a smart girl to insist upon that gag?
And there was my diabolical added touch: the noose. It would be bad to have to endure the whip, a great deal of pain and a tremendously intense helpless feeling. But if I jerked too hard or lost my balance, I would be hanging by my neck, totally unable to do a thing about it. Lord, that was an exciting idea when I first came up with it! But as I stood there, the rope tight around my neck, helpless and about to endure terrible pain, it had seemed more of a foolish idea than a grand one. Yet the excitement I felt within was incredible. It was as if I were intensely alive, every sensation vivid and colorful. The feeling of the ropes cutting into my flesh, the swaying of my body as I tried to hold still on the chair, the beating of my heart, and the heat between my legs, were all deliciously potent feelings. I was both extremely frightened and incredibly excited.
I'm not stupid. Tom had his instructions. If I hung and could not get my feet back on the chair for more than five seconds, he would move the chair so I could. If I knocked the chair over, he would immediately retrieve it. And if something should go wrong, he had a sharp knife with which to cut the rope. I wanted to experience extreme emotions of fear and pain and helplessness, but not to die.
Tom, for his part, was reluctant to do as I bid, but he came around. After he realized that we could do it safely, he became very interested. He had given me many spankings, often as hard as his male hand could deliver, and enjoyed my squeals and struggles as the pain brought tears to my eyes. The idea of whipping my bottom, actually whipping it with a real whip designed to inflict maximum pain, was turning him on, too. So I had my willing associate.
And what had I looked like in the few seconds after that first blow? I could see myself, feet slipping off the chair as my body jerked hard in response to the sudden burst of pain. Then the surprised look on my face as the thick rope tightened around my neck, cutting off the air. I had just let out with a cry as my weight pulled upon the rope, so my lungs were not full. Immediately I was gasping for air but got none. It was surprising how painful that rope around the neck was. I'm sure that my efforts to get my feet back under me were frantic.
I hoped that Tom enjoyed the little show.
Then I heard myself whining at the thought that this was only the first stroke, only the introduction to coming pain. The thought flashed through my brain that maybe I should try to tell him it was all a mistake and he should let me down.
Then came the second lash of that whip and I cried out loudly, almost a scream. But fortunately the ball gag muffled its intensity. Yet I had not expected that stroke, and again my body instinctually jerked. Then I was again choking as I partly hung by the neck. My feet sought and found the chair and again I gasped as I sucked in a lungful of fresh air.
Tom was behind me, so I couldn't see his reactions. I could only hope that he was being vigilant. I had told him to space the strokes out so I could enjoy the fearful anticipation of each new one. So it would be a while before the third was to come. Meantime I had to wonder about my poor bottom. It felt as if that whip had cut through my flesh and I envisioned trickles of blood creeping down my beaten ass. The frightening thought occurred that maybe this would leave scars upon my bottom that would last the rest of my life -- constant reminders of my first real whipping. The idea both scared me and excited me.
I heard the swish announcing the coming of the whip and tensed for it, resolved not to jerk this time. Horrible pain exploded in my rear and again I screamed into the gag, but this time I held my position with only a sideways jerk of my shoulders. The rope around my neck tightened then loosened as I returned to the upright position. My bottom was burning something terrible and I was beginning to cry. As the whipping continued, tears flowed freely down my cheeks to wet the gag strap and then fall upon my breasts.
With the fifth stroke I lost all resolve. This had to stop; it was too terrible to endure. I tried telling him to stop, but my tongue could not move enough to form those words. And my jaw was held open by that same ball. I could make only pathetic, hurt animal sounds.
I turned my head as best I could to look over my shoulder at Tom. Through my tears I could make him out, a tall man, trim from playing tennis, and with a whip trailing from his hand to the floor. I could not really see the expression on his face, and had to wonder about his emotions. Was he enjoying this? Sexually aroused -- as I was? Or was he fearful of hurting me too much and wondering whether he should stop. I whined a plea for mercy and tried to shake my head in a negative so he would understand.
My reward was to see that arm lift the whip and then swing it in an arc to impact viciously upon my poor, tortured flesh. I screamed, not a gasp or yell, but a full-throated scream. I didn't care whether the neighbors heard anything or not. I simply had to let out that expression of the pain I was feeling. And again I was unable to keep my position on the chair. It is almost impossible to keep your body still when pain is exploding inside you. My feet slipped as my body tried to curl up into a ball, and I was again hanging in mid-air. I sought to push my bound feet backward onto the chair, but missed. Desperately I tried again, only to find that my feet were hitting the edge of the chair instead of going on top the seat. I lifted my legs and tried again. This time my bare feet found the wooden seat and I could ease the strain off my neck.
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I was gasping as I stood there. Apparently, the rational part of my brain informed me, the rope had stretched when taking my full weight on it. So when I hung there, my feet were lower than the seat.
Please, I pleaded with Tom, please stop this! I'll die! My bottom will be cut to ribbons. Oh, please stop!
Of course the words never formed. My sounds were pitiful in more ways than one, but definitely not intelligible. Still, he had to know what I was trying to communicate. He had to!
Then I remembered myself briefing him just before I took my clothes off. Under no circumstance will you fail to deliver the full ten strokes to my bottom, I told him. No matter how much I plead or seem to be distressed, you will complete the whipping. If you don't, I told him as seriously as I could, you will never get me to bed again.
What could he do? Faced with the loss of his favorite "piece of ass" (as he sometimes referred to my sexual favors), he could only comply. Besides, I think he enjoyed the idea. Of course, he was not the one with the burning ass and wallowing in more pain than I ever thought possible.
As the sixth stroke lit up the nerve switchboards in my brain, a wild idea overtook my rational part. If I were unable to get my feet back on the chair, he would have to cut me down! Without bothering to analyze the wisdom of that idea, I kicked backwards and was rewarded with the sound of a chair hitting the floor.
Suddenly I realized what I had done and was more scared than I had ever been in my life. There was no chair to reach for, nothing but thin air for my kicking legs to find. The crushing pressure on my throat was terrible, as was the inability to suck in air. I remember kicking my legs, although why I don't know. And struggling against the rope around my arms and legs. It as a wild, illogical fight against the white cotton clothesline binding me, but still I struggled as hard as I could.
As the long seconds dragged on, I became aware of a roaring in my ears, and a pressure behind my eyes as if they were trying to bulge out. My face was tingling. Later I figured that was just the nerves starving for oxygen. All I could think about was that I was going to die. Right there and then, hanging naked in the attic of my house, a victim of my own stupidity.
Why the hell wasn't I falling to the floor? Tom should have cut the rope by now, the thought rushed through my mind. Was he going to let me die...?
Then something was gripping my ankles and forcing my legs backwards. Then there was a hard surface under my bare feet and I eagerly, frantically, pushed down onto it. The rope loosened slowly, as if it did not want to release its deadly caress on my neck. But then the first fresh air rushed down my windpipe and I was incredibly grateful to Tom for saving me.
I looked down into his eyes, searching for mercy. There was none. It was not that he was mean or hard looking. In fact I could see that he understood what I was experiencing -- as much as any human who was not actually having this happen to them could understand. But there was also the glow of sexual excitement and something else. What that something was, I am not exactly sure but maybe it was a little sadistic streak. Hell, a big sadistic streak. But whatever, I knew that he would not pay the slightest attention to my wordless pleas. I would have to endure the four remaining strokes. And I had the feeling that the last few would be applied with particular fierceness.
They were. And worse, they were applied over flesh made sensitive and sore by the previous slashes. I had all I could do to keep from falling off the chair again. But when the tenth stroke had been delivered and the pain began fading from the mind-numbing intensity to merely terrible, I felt a wonderful sense of relief. I had survived! The damage to my poor bottom remained to be seen, but there would be no more horrible pain explosions, nor any more of that frightening hanging by the neck.
Tom came around in front of me. For a minute he only looked upon my naked and trussed up body. His eyes were glowing with sexual excitement and much more intense emotion, and I could see a huge bulge in his pants and knew that he was as excited as I.
Oh, yes, it was true. I was one turned-on chick. There was a heat between my legs to match the one on my bottom. I wanted his arms around me and his huge penis inside me, pumping away so wonderfully strongly.
Then he did something that astonished me. And frightened me incredibly. He kicked the chair out from under me!
I fell a couple inches and felt a horrible jerk as the rope tightened around my neck. I looked to Tom. Was this joke? It had to be. He would let me hang for a few seconds then let me down. It would be no worse than the hanging I had already done and survived. Sure, that was it. He just was teasing me. A horrible way to do it, I thought, but still only teasing.
As I watched, he unzipped his pants and let loose that monster he keep hidden there. It sprang to full attention, larger and firmer than I had ever seen it before. An ache of passion overtook me at the sight of that. But what was he going to do? Screw me as I hung there? Then I remembered that my legs were tied together, so he couldn't do that. And, besides, I was hanging too high up for him to reach.
As I gasped and wiggled, I could see him stroking his rod. The bastard! He was masturbating while I was horny as hell and wanting him inside me so bad that my whole body ached. And while I was being strangled before his very eyes!
Long, long seconds passed. I hung in increasing pain and fear. He continued to stroke his hand around his penis. I was getting desperate. How long does it take a girl to strangle? A minute? Two? Surely I had been hanging for at least that long already. How long would it take him to get his damned climax?
I would have whined and made other desperate noises but nothing would come out. With my neck so constricted, I couldn't get air in or out. I pleaded with my eyes. And was ignored. Then I saw him getting glassy eyed and knew he was approaching a climax. No! I wanted to scream. Don't make me hang her while you get your pleasure. It isn’t fair!
It felt as if my head were going to explode from the pressure inside it. My vision was being to get black at the edges and I could feel my struggles weakening. With a last burst of strength, I kicked my bound legs out, hoping to connect with him and get his attention back to my plight. But I connected only with air; he was just out of reach.
Suddenly I saw the white fluid shooting out of his penis. An incredible amount came spurting out and leaping unbelievably high into the air. In spurts I saw the life-giving substance arch through the air straight at me only to fall short to the dusty floor.
Then everything began to fade to black and the universe folded in around me.

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