Sorority Saint: Domination & Dance Collide

By Daizie Draper

NOTE FROM THE DOM, JASON DELANEY: I know I'm sexy. It's why they come to me, hunt me down, beg so sweetly. Be my pirate. Be my daddy. Be my prince. For some reason, she doesn't beg, even though she kinda sorta wants to--Shayna, that self-righteous, prissy little saint with ballerina grace. After I tend to the sorority girl when she's mugged at the BDSM club where I'm a House Dom, she agrees to dance in my jazz-rock video in exchange for me teaching her the ins and outs of Dominance and submission that she's oh-so curious about. Oh, I'll teach her all right. But I wanna tick her off first. Her fury's just as sexy as her splits. She fights me, goes toe-to-toe, gets hot, but she lets the angel on her shoulder govern her every move and keep her from knowing erotic bliss. I just know a naughty devil's in there. And I'm gonna free hers, then tie it up and spank it and drive it wild with savage lust so it has the drive to duke it out with the haloed thrill-robber who's held the victor's belt for way too long. My money's on the bad girl.

Will I go to Hell for corrupting a saint? Don't know. But after she dove into her panties and showed me those glossy fingers upon command when she should've slapped me instead, I'd gladly take on any inferno to find out just how naughty and subalicious she truly is. And I will, provided we don't kill each other first with our verbal daggers or gropey hands.
 

77,000-word novel, no cliffhanger.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pink Cocktail Publishing
• Release date: Jul 27, 2016
• ISBN: 9781536564815

Book preview

A Pink Cocktail publication

Sorority Saint: Domination & Dance Collide © Daizie Draper 2014

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, photocopy, recording, scanning or other—except for brief quotations in reviews or articles, without written consent from the publisher.

Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental. All participants in sexual activities are over 18.

DESCRIPTION

NOTE FROM THE DOM, JASON DELANEY: I know I’m sexy. It’s why they come to me, hunt me down, beg so sweetly. Be my pirate. Be my daddy. Be my prince. For some reason, she doesn’t beg, even though she kinda sorta wants to—Shayna, that self-righteous, prissy little saint with ballerina grace. After I tend to the sorority girl when she’s mugged at the BDSM club where I’m a House Dom, she agrees to dance in my jazz-rock video in exchange for me teaching her the ins and outs of Dominance and submission that she’s oh-so curious about. Oh, I’ll teach her all right. But I wanna tick her off first. Her fury’s just as sexy as her splits. She fights me, goes toe-to-toe, gets hot, but she lets the angel on her shoulder govern her every move and keep her from knowing erotic bliss. I just know a naughty devil’s in there. And I’m gonna free hers, then tie it up and spank it and drive it wild with savage lust so it has the drive to duke it out with the haloed thrill-robber who’s held the victor’s belt for way too long. My money’s on the bad girl.

Will I go to Hell for corrupting a saint? Don’t know. But after she dove into her panties and showed me those glossy fingers upon command when she should’ve slapped me instead, I’d gladly take on any inferno to find out just how naughty and subalicious she truly is. And I will, provided we don’t kill each other first with our verbal daggers or gropey hands.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

About Daizie Draper

CHAPTER ONE

Shayna

Saliva clawed down my throat in my seventy-eighth tight swallow. Well, maybe not exactly that many, ’cause counting would be ridiculous ... but close enough. All night I kept feeling like my esophagus was gonna squish down to a pinhole. Being about two hundred steps away from the total demise of my innocence only exacerbated the feeling of strangulation.

Glancing in my clunker’s mirror, I took the deepest breath I could. Ugh. The braids might be overkill. That, combined with my schoolgirl outfit and pixie frame, made me look fifteen. I’m fairly confident this whole Britney Spears vibe said which type I am and what I want. Hopefully my C-boobs sufficiently trumpeted adulthood. Needing to whip out my license to prove my age compressed my lungs. I didn’t want anyone to find out about this. I just wanted to go in, get the spanking I deserved, and that’s it. I considered all the ways I could make this happen, and entering this den of debauchery seemed the safest and most private. Though chills of terror forged an alliance with flames of shame to send me back home unpink, I had to do this. Recent misbehavior was weighing me down, and I needed to be free from all that guilt. With my roommate Addison at the beach all week, the fall semester of my second year in college closing in on me, and my park outreach stuffed again tomorrow for some lame red-tape reason, this was my best and maybe only shot to get absolution and some well-deserved soreness. Surely I can find an amiable Dom here to give me a good sting without him expecting something more.

After reapplying lipstick and blowing myself a kiss for luck, I whacked the visor up. My heart raced as I perused the lot. Most of the freaks entering the castle were in leather, which was way beyond my comfort level, but I really needed to stop being a sanctimonious wimp and live a little. I suddenly craved to own leather, nothing slutty, just something that gave me more edge and sex appeal. I’m a bundle of blah.

Okay, okay. Open door, Shayna. Open, open. My hand shook as I lifted the handle and got out. I’ll get eaten alive if I walk in trembling like this. I engaged my alarm, so unneeded on a Neon, but it came already installed in my pre-owned car. Being parked in the least lit section, I was more afraid of some crackpot surprising me in my backseat than I was of theft.

Determined to look like I belonged, I straightened my shoulders as I strode toward Xtreme Xtasy. I breathed deeply to uncoil the knot of tension in my throat.

Just ten steps closer, I was suddenly shoved hard from behind. I screamed as I sailed forward and smacked pavement. Oww! What the heck! Pain blasted everywhere. As wetness sprouted on my knees and forehead, tears stung my eyes and sobs gurgled out. Panic overtook me as I hollered for my life. Would anyone even realize this wasn’t consensual? A foot bashed my side. I clutched my gut, curled up, and whimpered. I propped up to get a look, hand-over-face to block a shot. Please, stop! Please!

Some scrawny boy-bander, his mustache, a mere chocolate milk stain.

With my dancer flexibility and strength, bet I could take him. He’s about to find out, he messed with the wrong chick. Begging for mercy, I poised to kick him in the nuts, but before I could deliver the crushing blow, he snatched my purse and keys then darted off and disappeared from sight. Hey! I cried. I then yelled for help and a male kinkster exiting the club responded to my shouts and dashed my way.

Involuntary blubbering came out of me as I stood on shaky legs. My palms, head, and knees stung.

The pepper-haired cowboy grabbed my arm, steadying me. What the heck happened?

I was attacked and mugged. He ... just ran off.

Come on, come on, let’s get you inside and cleaned up while I call the cops.

No! I clutched him. Then everyone’ll know I was here! I mean ... I—I’m okay. Got some scrapes. He kicked me and nabbed my purse and keys, but I only have a debit card and one credit card, and I’ll cancel ’em. I don’t have valuables. Even my phone’s just a lame TracFone, nothing special. What a babbling moron. Shut! Up!

Look, little girl. I gotta report it. He not only mugged you, he assaulted you on our property. Gotta file a report. Come on in and get cleaned up. We got first aid. Which car’s yours?

I pointed. "Uh, the blue Neon." As if there were more Neons. Duh.

Kay. I’ll block the tire.

I sneered at my craphole. "Um, think someone’ll steal that? I don’t even have a CD player. Power steering’s about my best perk."

He nodded, agreeing with my summation. "Maybe not, but I’ll block it anyway. You said he took your keys? That should scare the dickens out of you. There’ve been six or seven incidents in the area where a mugging was followed by a home invasion." His arm stayed around me as he walked me toward the entrance.

Home invasion? I cried, a shiver snaking down my spine. Oh my gosh. No, no, no. This can’t be happening.

Sorry to say, but it’s the truth. Ushering me across a bridge that spanned a moat, he said, Were you followed here?

Followed? What! How they heck would I know! Like I’d have a reason to look for that? I was getting more and more freaked out by the second. The thought of having some gun or knife-wielding freak bust into my rented guesthouse while all alone shook me. Suddenly queasy, I clutched my abdomen. The ohs and snivels coming out of me fused in wild intercourse.

Shh, shh. Cowboy tried to calm me, rubbing my back. Do your best to relax. I’ll get ya fixed up. Come on, darlin’. I’m Tex. I gotta get back to the bar, but I’ll get your car blocked, call police, and find someone to help you, all right?

Kay. Thanks. I gulped at the naked-and-bound-lady door handles, promising obscene action inside.

He opened the door and kept his hand on my shoulder as he told a desk lady in the foyer I was with him. Need soda, Gatorade or anything?

Sure. A Coke’d be great. The red and black decor and scenes of sub-basement-level passion in this massive room, not to mention the screams, overwhelmed me with trembles.

Cringing, I followed Tex down an exotic carpet runner to the bar and gaped at the gorgeous, spiral staircases mirroring on opposite sides of the club. Not daring to take in anything else after I saw a woman getting shoved to the floor, a clamp on her hair, I closed my eyes until I was safely sitting on bar stool. Her cries as smacks met her butt both aroused and alarmed me. The beat stirred up a tingle and throb, especially as her yowls became moans of elation that sounded like she was coming. Wow. Man, I’m an idiot! Though parts of this were panty-melting, this was way too extreme for me.

Addison and her boyfriend Logan lived a 24/7 D/s lifestyle. Wish I could be free and exploratory like them. I’ve waffled on the idea that I might be submissive like her. Now, I’m not so sure. I couldn’t stop shaking at the overload of sensual stimuli.

Tex got behind the bar and handed me a wet napkin. He gave a guy the details of my car over a walkie-talkie.

My nerves crackled. I dotted my head and swiped blood off my calves. Napkin still in my fist, I set my curled hands on the bar.

Then, Tex was on to the cops. While talking, he placed an icy Coke in front of me.

Thanks so much. I guzzled it in five long draws through the thin straw and crunched a small cube. There weren’t any draft handles or liquor bottles behind Tex. When he hung up, I said, You don’t serve alcohol?

Nope. ’Sides the fact we don’t have a liquor license, drunkenness only leads to trouble we don’t want. Consent becomes hazy, and action, sloppy, with intoxication. We get enough loopiness in here with the adrenaline and endorphin rushes and all.

I don’t drink anyway. A giggle over my right shoulder drew my attention. A woman, dressed younger than me in a frilly dress, had the crotch of her panties held to the side and most private bits shown off by her Dom. He fondled her crudely up the skirt like it was nothing as they conversed at a table with others. Ohmygod. My face got hot and I buzzed deep inside. I coughed and squeezed my thighs together, then raced my focus back to Tex. Endorphins? What causes the rush?

Anything really vigorous, but generally pain.

The word pain pinballed in my mind, its beat outrunning my pulse. Oh. Of course. Would a ... spanking do that?

All depends on the spankee. What’s your name, darlin’?

I itched to lie, but he’d learn the truth once the police got here. Uh, Shayna.

His lip corners curled. Lookin’ to get spanked?

The burn swamping my chest singed my face. Um, huh, I dunno. Just curious, that’s all.

Right. He winked and called someone. My heart scuttled. "Hey, Master J! You on one? A young lady got mugged in the lot. Cops are on the way. Can you clean her up? Don’t want her bleeding all over my bar. She might want some polishing once you’ve gussied her up."

Yep, on one. I’m right here, a guy behind me said.

Polishing? Please tell me he didn’t just rat me out to the dude behind me. Please, please. When I spun and hopped off the stool, all the blood rushed from my head and dizziness nearly shoved my pale rump to the floor. No. Way. Jason? He works here? I’d met him last winter through Addison at some restaurant I couldn’t recall at the moment because a vortex of horror was telling me I’d just arrived in Hell.

The bare-chested wall in black jeans and boots lowered his phone and dropped it into a holder at his hip. His satisfactory smirk at spotting me here made me feel naked and smeared with dirt.

Ohmygod, I muttered, taking in the beast with the bleeding, thorny rose tattoo that coiled around his upper left arm. His shoulder-length blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail and his muscles, wow, his muscles ... his vast world of manly curves dropped my jaw.

Yeah, I get that a lot, he said with a vain smirk. "A lot. Usually in screams, but, hey, whispers work too."

Whaaaat, I slowly sang, what are you doing here? My mouth fell open again.

Snagging worship apparently. He knuckle-bopped my chin, and I clammed my mouth shut with a grind. Which I adore. He winked. Err, so freaking irritating!

Not surprising he was no less conceited than when I’d first met him. Dinner was a disaster, and I couldn’t wait to get away from him. Too bad a guy this hot was such an arrogant narcissist. I whacked his hand away and patted my head with the napkin. Ukkk, must you always be so cocky and disgusting?

Hell yes. It’s part of my charm. Don’tcha think?

"Only making you slightly better company than demons."

"You’ll hardly be thinking that after I make those cheeks burn."

As if I’d ever let you touch my butt.

What a filthy, gutter mind you have, bad girl. Cupping my jaw with his fingers, he drew a line across my cheekbone with his thumb. "I was talking about these. But I’m certainly not averse to taking your other ones in hand. You are, after all, here, dressed for correction. What’d you do?"

Not your business. I batted his hand away.

"Considering how judgmental and prissy you are about people like me with your sneers and gasps of horror, your dirty deeds must’ve been really bad for you to come here to get spanked."

I’m not— I fumed and clenched my fists. Look, are you gonna help me or not? If not, I’ll just—

Dodging the question? Must’ve been a slutty thing. His laugh, all sly and nauseating like, and the slow tongue stroke across his bottom lip steamed me up and tightened my jaw.

Shut. Up. Ya gonna clean me up?

I suppose. But consider yourself warned. If you get the slightest bit condescending, I’m gagging you. He seized my arm like a caveman, dragging me towards the stairs.

We climbed, then passed a public whipping and another spanking. Despite the heat raging between my legs, no way could I do that. In front of people? Crazy!

He brought me into a nautical-house-of-horrors room, closed the door, and ordered me, with a point, to sit on the couch.

Yes ... Sir, I said in jest. Scowling, I obeyed with a flop down right after he brushed by me.

Rotating my way, he looked over his shoulder. Muscles in his back stretched in swooping arcs that begged for strokes. Respect would fall much more loosely off your lips if you were sporting the stinging blush you came here to get.

As he turned to fetch the first aid kit, I spilled terse air out through the slim opening of my mouth. Player pigs don’t deserve respect. I fumed, hating his x-ray vision. How do you know what I came here to get?

Even without Tex’s nudge, the need for pink’s written all over your face. Every time I refer to it, your body jolts and cheeks flush. And just so we’re clear, I’m certainly no player.

You work at a BDSM club. Get real. That’s hardly a profession of innocence.

He returned to me, white box in hand. Ball gag or scarf?

"You are not gagging me."

Keep it up, and we’ll see about that. The fact that you’ll surely fight me all the way only makes it that much more alluring. Plus, the image of my new pearly, pink ball prying your yappy trap wide open is making me twitch. You, silenced properly, with drool streaming down your chin and a scream of resistance in your eyes? Mmm. Sexy. His eyes blazed with vexation. You make a lot of false assumptions about me and my ilk. Just ’cause I’m a House Dom does not mean I’m ramming my junk up every skirt in sight. Tugging a rubber glove on his right hand, he crouched in front of me. Breath hissed out of his nostrils as he slid his bare hand under my thigh and pulled my foot forward with the other. I don’t think he was meaning to make it sensual, he was still evidently annoyed, but his hold, still tickling my thigh, and the light dabbing with a wet cotton ball now made me dizzy and hot. Crap. I didn’t want this Neanderthal making me feel anything other than less stingy on my scrapes.

"Just curious, do you, um, do some of them?" Don’t know why I cared.

Incredible. His shoulders were almost as broad as the recliner behind him. Nope. With my profession so complex, intimate, and demanding, I’m not in a relationship and haven’t been for almost two years. But it’s really not your business who I do or don’t do, is it?

No, not exactly, I huffed. Embarrassed for my intrusion, I jerked involuntarily and squirmed.

How old are you anyway?

Twenty-one.

"Really."

"Twenty-one. I worked as an ad agency gofer for two years to earn some money for college."

You look barely legal.

Yeah, thanks!

He gripped my thigh tighter to hold me still as he cleaned my knee and put salve on. I fought to not wiggle at the pang in my hottest place. He released my leg, sadly taking warmth and the zappy sensation with it. I cursed my body out for longing for the return of his touch. So dumb! He stuck bandages on my knees with gentle swipes of his thumbs. He went for my hand next.

I winced when he accidentally grabbed the scrape, but his thumb softly flitting around the abrasion made up for it. Bubbles popped on my skin and butterflies burst off in my belly as he wiped it clean.

He looked up, meeting my gaze with dazzling blue. Sorry, tryin’a be gentle.

You are? Why? Don’t you like delivering pain?

"Not particularly. I do hurt subs when it’s what they want, but I’m no sadist. I build perfect fantasies and fulfill desires here. But even if I did enjoy it, this isn’t the kind of pain to get me hot. I do like whipping, spanking, and impact play, but it’s best if those things delight a sub and aren’t just seen and used as punishment."

"What! That isn’t pain to you? Whipping sounds torturous. I still find it disgusting and brutal."

"Well, it’s not like genital torture, electric shock, or blood play. That’s what I’d consider pain. When I whip, it’s done because it’s craved. I have beautiful form and precise strikes that I practice three times a week to maintain. I could hack up a back if I wished, but I prefer to zing and zip across skin or leave subtle indentations."

"You told me it was like anything from a dragonfly to a tiger claw. A claw? That sounds painful."

"Well, some people like to get scratched, not just on their skin, but deep in their soul, and the whip is the only thing that can ship them to their ultimate ecstasy. That’s a beautiful truth to know and admit to. Every sub should get some impact play, I feel, even if it’s just the lightest bit that can be tolerated. It’s damn fun for both parties."

What’s impact play?

Striking with hands or objects, which could be anything from rubber bands to floggers. That’s taking someone on a sensual journey, not making them bleed or scream for the sake of it. Dishing out extreme pain or torture isn’t the thing that tickles my fancy.

What does tickle your fancy then?

Worship and devotion.

Hmm. So it’s all about you?

He chortled, Of course.

Pretty damn selfish.

Isn’t everyone?

No. Some people actually do aim to put others first. I bit my lip. Um, just curious, when would a spanking, like, be delivered, under your, um, domination or whatever? I had to work to emit a breath because my lungs locked up.

His mouth tilted slyly. Under my domination? Gosh, he made me so sick! He grinned wider and chuckled, which only spiked my loathing for this jerk. "When a girl misbehaves. Sometimes subbies need a spanking to feel pardoned. Some women like to work spanking into a scene, but it’s not true punishment then, even if the scenario depicts it as such. Real infractions shouldn’t get to slide without correction. Letting a naughty girl, who willfully did something bad, go unpunished is a disservice to all. With my hand cleaned, he said, Want a bandage? It’s not oozing, but it’ll give you a buffer."

If you have one that fits. Thanks. What would constitute a real infraction? The applied bandage wrapped around to the front. His soft drag across my palm zinged electricity through my body, and I pressed my lips together then internally told myself off at the idiotic urge to kiss him.

Disrespect. Lying. Brattiness. Not completing an assigned task or obeying an agreed-upon rule, to name a few. An unfamiliar song played on his phone. I took a deep breath as he picked up. Kay. I’m still dressing her wounds. Give us five. He hung up. Cops are here.

I nodded numbly. "I’m nervous. Never been a fan of cops. I also really don’t want anyone to find out I was here."

Yeah, I’ll bet. He rushed to finish my head. Mintiness hung on his breath and the flecks of sea glass in his eyes mesmerized me. Just a little scrape. Not bad. Head wounds just bleed more garishly. I melted, watching the bulging of his biceps and the rise and fall of his chest as he dabbed my forehead with one hand and held my chin like crystal in the other. Some police frequent here, so they know all about discretion, but I can understand why a self-righteous, little saint like you wouldn’t want people knowing you’re bad, or, heaven forbid, kinky.

"I’m not bad. And definitely not kinky."

"Oh, the fucking web you weave, you repressed, little