Who Compels My Strength: & Other Kinky Stories

By Lauren Gallagher

Four short kinky stories!

Denied – A pain slut finds a sadist who knows just how to torture him—by denying him the pain he craves so badly.

Who Compels My Strength – When a Dom and sub switch for the night, can she play the role her husband fills so well? And... does she want to?

Moonshine for Three – A bisexual cop investigating his ex-lover’s illegal gambling boat finds himself tied up... and between the man he’s never forgotten and the woman who stole his heart.

When All Else Fails – When a husband stumbles across his wife’s browser history, he discovers she desperately wants him to dominate her.

This 29,000 word collection includes three short stories that have been previously published and one new title (When All Else Fails).

• Language: English
• Publisher: L.A. Witt
• Release date: Sep 14, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463179673

Lauren Gallagher

Lauren Gallagher is an abnormal romance writer currently living in the wilds of Omaha, Nebraska. She and her husband, along with a coyote-iguana hybrid and two and a half cats, are thought to be in hiding from the Polynesian Mafia and a debt collector in search of a fine for an overdue book from the Library of Alexandria. Lauren continues to skillfully, if somewhat clumsily, elude them, but continues to have run-ins with her arch nemesis, M/M erotic romance author L. A. Witt. The implementation of Operation: I Don't Think So is expected to resolve that problem soon enough.

Book preview

Who Compels My Strength

& Other Kinky Stories

by

Lauren Gallagher

Copyright Information

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

First edition

Copyright © 2016 Lauren Gallagher

Edited by Jules Robin

Some titles have been previously published as individuals or as part of other collections.

Who Compels My Strength, 2012-2016 Totally Bound, individually and part of the Switch Anthology

Denied, 2011-2016, Evernight Publishing, part of the Master of Mine Anthology

Moonshine For Three, 2013 as part of the Underground Anthology, 2014-2016 as a standalone

Cover Art by Lori Witt

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Lauren Gallagher at [e-mail]

Four short kinky stories!

Denied – A pain slut finds a sadist who knows just how to torture him—by denying him the pain he craves so badly.

Who Compels My Strength – When a Dom and sub switch for the night, can she play the role her husband fills so well? And…does she want to?

Moonshine for Three – A bisexual cop investigating his ex-lover’s illegal gambling boat finds himself tied up…and between the man he’s never forgotten and the woman who stole his heart.

When All Else Fails – When a husband stumbles across his wife’s browser history, he discovers she desperately wants him to dominate her. (Never before published!)

Table of Contents

Denied

Who Compels My Strength

Moonshine for Three

When All Else Fails

About the Author

Denied

Her name wasn’t really Lady Roxanne.

Mine wasn’t really Elliott, so I guess that made us even.

We didn’t need to know each other’s names, though. In between weeks of lengthy online conversations, we’d met in the flesh at local munches and had a few mutual acquaintances. She was a well-respected—and deliciously sadistic—Domme, and presumably, she knew enough about me now to satisfy any concerns she might have had that I was an ax murderer or an otherwise unsavory character.

It was also more than enough for me to be damned sure she was exactly what I’d been looking for. I wanted a Domme who’d make it hurt, and the more we talked, the more I knew Lady Roxanne was exactly the woman to do it. Pain play under her command didn’t mean a couple of slaps on the ass and some hair-pulling. Thud was for pussies as far as she was concerned, and if a sub didn’t want it to sting like hell, then she wasn’t interested. She talked about welts and bruises like they were badges of honor beaten into the flesh of her subs.

After much pleading on my part—she so loved to make me beg—she’d agreed to meet me tonight at the local dungeon. No more chatting. No more discussing what we wanted from each other. No more negotiating limits and rules.

"Do you want it to hurt?" she’d asked via instant message last night.

"Yes, Mistress. Please, please make it hurt."

"Seven o’clock. Don’t be late."

In the room she’d reserved, I glanced up at the clock on the wall. Modern and unembellished, it was out of place here. It was the same crisp, black and white utilitarian device that hung above cubicle walls in every workplace in the city, with a thin red hand blandly marking the passing minutes. Out there, it informed people when it was time to leave their dull jobs and return to their dull lives. Here, it had become a necessity because it was so easy for a twenty-minute flogging to turn into a two-hour scene without anyone in the room realizing so much time had passed. Eventually, the dungeon owners would probably install clocks that were a bit more in synch with the ambiance, but for now, these eyesores would suffice, and this regimented keeper of corporate time kept watch over the pain and pleasure below.

It also said Lady Roxanne was fifteen minutes late.

No, that wasn’t right. She was the Domme. She was in charge, and she was not late. I was expected to be here at seven o’clock. When she arrived was her prerogative and not my place to question, so I tried not to look at the clock. She would be here when she was damned good and ready.

Taking a deep breath, I wondered what awaited me this evening. She’d chosen one of the rooms that had a little of everything: A Saint Andrew’s Cross. A steel frame with dozens of holes and eyebolts specifically for hooking up ropes, chains, shackles, and God only knew what else. A table and couple of chairs, any one of which could be put to use by a creative top. Was she such a top? I’d find out soon enough.

I’d been disappointed the last several times I’d done this, but everyone said Lady Roxanne could dish out the pain like few other Dommes. She was relentless, and if there was a limit to be found and tested, she’d find it and test it.

We’ll see about that.

I had yet to find another Domme who could hurt me the way I wanted. Oh, the others made it hurt. They even got me into something close to subspace, at least far enough to make sure the resulting subdrop left me reeling for hours afterward, but it had been years since someone had beaten, clawed, and tortured me into knee-shaking, eye-watering, heart-pounding euphoria. Longer still since one had pulled it off without the jarring drop.

If what I’d heard and all she’d said was true, Lady Roxanne was the kind of Domme who would scratch my back to ribbons and whip me until I couldn’t stand it anymore. She wasn’t for the faint of heart, and faint of heart I was not.

At least, I thought I wasn’t, but my heart certainly did something when the door opened.

With a duffel bag over one arm and her curvy body poured into a skintight, black leather catsuit, Lady Roxanne strode in like she owned the place. Shoulders set back, eyes narrow, lips together in a straight, neutral line. Her high-heeled boots hit the floor with a rhythmic crack-tap that echoed through the room and down my spine. Blood pounded in my ears.

Damn, she was hot. Even when she was in street clothes, she was stunning, but like this? Jesus. Her dark hair was pulled back in a tight, severe twist instead of spilling over her shoulders. Surreptitiously looking her up and down, my mouth watered. I was a hips-and-ass man, all the way, and she had the most amazing set of hips. What I wouldn’t have given to run my hands over the slick, clingy leather, but I knew that wouldn’t happen. Not unless she gave me permission anyway.

Close the door. She dropped the bag on the table with a thud, and the muffled clink of metal made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle.

Here we go…

Willing my legs to cooperate in her presence, I quickly did as ordered. The click of the latch sealed us in this sadistic room, and it was all I could do not to back up against the door. To shrink away from her. I wasn’t afraid of her, but intimidated? Nervous? Oh, hell yeah.

Lady Roxanne opened the duffel bag and, piece by piece, laid its contents on the table. Over her shoulder in a terse, sharp voice, she said, Safe words? I barely registered what she’d said over the clank, thud, clatter, and thunk of the implements she dropped onto the table. Metal, leather, plastic. God, yes, she’d brought all kinds of pain.

Without turning around, she snapped, Answer me.

I cleared my throat. Red and yellow, Mistress.

She gave a single, slow nod of approval. Her back still turned, she said, Strip.

Shouldering myself off the door, I swallowed hard and started unbuttoning my shirt. I couldn’t decide whether to watch her and her bag of tricks, or avert my eyes and try to keep my nerves in check. When we’d met at the munches, she was chattier. Friendly, if a bit aloof. But here, in her natural environment, in the role of the sadistic Domme, she spoke only as much as was required to get the point across. She made every word count.