Blood and Arrows and Other Stories: Four Sexy BDSM Short Stories

By Leigh Clark

If a scratch on the back or a swift spank makes your heart beat faster, Blood and Arrows is guaranteed to grab your attention. These four light bondage stories explore the sensual delights of BDSM, both for the top and the bottom; whether it is the caress of a razorblade, the helpless sensation of rough sex, or the sting of a tattoo needle, arousing accounts and unabashed tales of kinky sex await!

• Language: English
• Publisher: HoE
• Release date: Feb 23, 2012
• ISBN: 9781781661048

Book preview

1988.

Blood and Arrows

My phone rang. I grabbed it, Yeah?

Sophie? Did you call me and hang up?

Pause.

Oh dear, I’m really sorry to hear that, I said.

Sophie? Are you all right? It was Jane’s voice

Of course not. I’ll come right over and help you out.

Is this about that weirdo, Demmy?

Yes, I’m afraid so, but never mind. He’ll understand that you really need my support right now. I turned to Demmy who was shaving his chest with a disposable razor, in full view of anybody passing outside. He was gorgeous, black hair, deep brown eyes, compact, heavily-muscled body which he kept fit for purpose. And in the few weeks we’d been together, he’d been an exciting and considerate lover, so why was I preparing to run out on him, just as he was sitting down in the tattooist’s chair?

My mum, she’s hurt her ankle, fell downstairs, I’ve got to go and see she’s okay…

He nodded glumly.

I turned back to the mobile, Okay, I’m on my way, Mum.

You’d better be, and you’d better be prepared to tell me all about it, and don’t call me Mum! Jane hung up with a giggle and I fast-walked out of the tattoo parlour to the nearest taxi rank.

Yup, tattoo parlour. The tattoo was why I was escaping.

I’ve wanted to do this for years, Demmy had said. Come with me, Soph, for moral support?

I nodded, relieved he wasn’t going to have my name punctured across his bicep. A heart, he’d said. Then we got to the parlour and he took the design he’d chosen out of his back pocket and unfolded it.

It was a heart all right. A life-size copy, so realistic you thought it could throb, and full of purple and red pipes. Not only that, but in the very centre, an equally life-sized arrow—not a triangular one, like we all drew as kids back when we sketched hearts and arrows in our schoolbooks, but a streamlined, leaf-shaped bit of shiny metal, buried halfway into the heart, and with wasp-like black and yellow bands around the shaft, which appeared to have been snapped off a couple of inches from the heart.

As an exercise in super-realistic art, the picture was impressive—as something I would have to gaze on each time Demmy unbuttoned his shirt it was frankly repulsive.

So I shifted my hand into my bag, called Jane on speed-dial and then hung up. I