BDSM Books

If you like BDSM fiction that tends toward the non-literary variety, but is still printed in an actual book with actual paper pages, one of the better imprints out there in recent years has been British publisher Silver Moon Books. Their books, alas, aren’t widely distributed in the United States, which makes them tricky to find.

Content varies widely, but tends to remind me of the old House of Milan titles in the sense of featuring lots of bondage, lots of spanking and whipping, lots of sex, and lots of severe scenarios starring unwilling women who manage to have fun anyway.

To give you the flavor, here are a few paragraphs from the first chapter of Desert Discipline by Mark Stewart:

The final straw came just after Suzanne’s eighteenth birthday. Her uncle informed her that she was to be married to an old merchant in return for a lucrative business deal. The thought of this horrified Suzanne; she threw caution to the rind and informed her uncle in no uncertain terms that she would not be ‘sold off’ to increase his already considerable wealth.

“If you think I will marry that old decrepit crow, you had better think again” she had shouted at the top of her voice. To make matters worse, the ‘decrepit old crow’ was in the next room and heard every word.

“You will do as I order” thundered her uncle.

“I will not and there is nothing you can do to make me,” Suzanne brazenly retorted.

“We will see about that” her uncle replied and stormed out of the room.

Suzanne was left with her aunt who stood glaring at her, her face crimson with anger. Suzanne prepared herself for another meeting with the vicious birch rods, determined that no matter how hard she was beaten this time she would not give in.

It was some five minutes later that her uncle returned accompanied by the merchant and the butler. “Have you changed your tune?” he demanded.

“NO!”

“Right then. On your head be it.” Then turning to the butler. “Do as I ordered.”

The butler grasped Suzanne’s arms behind her back and she was frog marched from the room, the others following close behind. To her consternation she was not taken to the study but out of the house towards the stables.

As the procession entered through the stable door, Suzanne began to tremble with fear at what confronted her. A heavy wooden table had been put in the centre and the head groom, whose advances Suzanne had once rudely rejected, stood there a long riding switch in his hands.

“You had your last chance girl. Now you will get a sound lesson in obedience and respect for your elders. Take off your clothes.”

“I will not.” Suzanne replied, her face red with embarrassment.

“Obey my order this instant or I will order the groom to do it for you.”

Realising that resistance was useless, Suzanne removed her garments one by one until, her face bright red with shame she stood naked before the gathering. She was pushed over the end of the table and her wrists and ankles tied to the legs.

“Carry out my order, Jacques.”

The last thing Suzanne saw before she screwed her eyes tight shut was the sadistic smile on the groom’s face as he took a practice swing with the switch.

Swish. Crack.

The stroke curled across the centre of her taut bottom raising a streak of fire far worse than any the recipient had dreamed possible. A shrill scream echoed around the stable.

Swish. Thwack.

A second line of fire rose in her cheeks as again Suzanne screamed.

Swish. Thwack.

This was far worse than any beating she had received before. It felt as if the switch was biting deep into her flesh. She had only taken three strokes yet she was writhing and screaming as if she had had a dozen with the birch.

After the sixth stroke Susan felt her head pulled up and she looked through her tears at the angry face of her uncle.

“Are you ready to change your mind yet?” he asked.

“No, and I never will” sobbed his niece through her tears.

“Carry on Jacques,” Suzanne heard her uncle order, “and lay them on harder. The ungrateful wench will learn to do as I say.”

To the accompaniment of her screams and sobs, the groom satisfied his revenge on Suzanne’s bottom. Twelve, fifteen strokes he delivered, the effort making his face run with sweat.

Suzanne lost count of the times the switch lashed across her raging buttocks. Her determination not to give in outlasted her body’s ability to absorb the beating and, after the eighteenth stroke had burned another path across her writhing body, she sank into welcome oblivion.

She slowly surfaced through the mist of pain to find herself laying face down on her own bed. Her uncle stood beside her.

“You have until tomorrow to think things over. If you haven’t changed your mind them you will be taken back to the stable for a further whipping. This will be repeated every day until you learn obedience to my orders.”

So saying he stamped his way from the room. Suzanne heard the key turned in the lock and she was left alone with her pain.