A nymphomaniac sex slave travels from village to compound to city, in search of passion and love.
From the introduction:
Many generations ago, settlers arrived on a mysterious continent, and created a city called Aldlyn. Almost no records exist of this place, or this time. One of the only stories remaining is Dyana’s.
Dyana’s story was passed down for many generations before it was recorded in writing. Her story is both simple and complex, of love and loss, of friendship and growth. It isn’t a story about Aldlyn, or about the human condition, or our own history. It’s just what it is: A story of a young woman, in search of passion and love.
It isn’t clear how much is truth or legend. But the story remains, and in the end, that’s all we can hope for.
This story contains themes such as: sexual servitude, BDSM, sexual slavery, polyamory, anal sex, rough sex, spanking, punishment, group sex, sex and submission, dominance and submission, masochism, and forced sexual servitude. ‘Odyssey for Passion’ is intended for adult readers only.
Inside his hut, Jolon threw her down on the bed. She sat up and watched him light several candles, until the entire room illuminated with a soft, flickering glow. The eerie shadows danced around, and she nervously watched him undress.
Naked, Jolon stood before her like a warrior god. At that moment, he was the most powerful man she’d ever known, more powerful than Tupi, more powerful than Father. His hair atop his head made him stand even taller. His presence was ominous. Though Dyana was beside herself with lust, she was also frightened to the core. Jolon could do anything to her. He smiled at her.
Dyana, in spite of herself, broke into nervous laughter.
Jolon chuckled. “Laughing doesn’t seem appropriate for a girl who is about to be punished.”
Dyana quieted. “And how will you punish me, Jolon?”
He licked his lips. “Take off those sashes and stand.”
The nearby thumping of the drums matched the thumping of Dyana’s heart as she stood and pulled off her sashes. She lay the colorful strips of fabric onto the bed. Making her eyes big and doleful, she gazed up at Jolon. Perhaps he’d have her and skip her punishment.
Ah, but she knew what her soul preferred.
Jolon moved her to the center of the room and nudged her legs apart. He pulled her arms up and placed them behind her head. Satisfied, he stood back to admire her.
“A slave,” he murmured to himself. “Dyana, the slave girl.” He walked to the edge of the room and retrieved a long rod. A short piece of leather was attached to the end of it. “Do you know what this is?” He held the rod in front of her.
“It’s a crop we use on our horses.” He stepped away from her and, with a quick flick of his wrist, very lightly snapped the leather against Dyana’s breast. “When we want them to go faster, we give their rumps a little swat.”
Dyana watched him in wonder as he paced in front of her. He turned, and in a fluid motion, he snapped the crop hard, right on her thigh.
“Oh!” She jumped away, covered her thigh with her hands and looked at him in fear.
“Tsk, tsk,” he tutted. “Get back in position, girl.”
She did, and she was again hit with the crop, this time on her behind. She held her place and her face contorted as she tried to accept the pain. Again, on her other buttock, and again, on her thigh. Over and over, he hit her with the crop, and she was soon in tears.
“Please, Jolon,” she begged. “It hurts so!”
“It’s a punishment.” He trailed the leather along the bottom of her breasts, pausing to lift each breast up with the crop then let it down. He sharply snapped the leather to her left breast.
Dyana wailed in pain.
The drumming outside muffled her cries to the others and no one would know the torment she was in. She was at his mercy. Again, the leather smacked her other breast. Dyana moved her arms once more to protect her sensitive skin and Jolon responded by landing a snapping spank to the front of her sex.
“No!” She clamped her legs together and bent over to try to protect herself.
Jolon pulled her back up, urged her hands back into position, and kicked her legs apart.
“You mustn’t move so much.”
Dyana stared into his eyes, and saw he was completely calm, yet she was the perfect picture of a frantic woman being ruthlessly punished. She tried to embrace his calm energy and pull it into her own. She took a deep breath.
“I will stay still.”
Jolon smiled, and the beating continued.
With each snap of leather against her flesh, Dyana gasped in pain, but she did not cry out. She did not move. She’d accept what he wanted to give her. It was part of her life—it was her fate. Before long, the pain subsided, and every single swat brought her an odd thrill. She was no longer gasping in pain. She was groaning with lust.
Jolon threw the crop to the ground and pushed her back onto the bed. He moved her legs up until they were up against her chest. That same curiosity returned to his face. “You enjoyed that.”
“Please have me, Jolon.”
He obliged. He took her hard and Dyana could barely gasp for air. He seemed so full of need. Her slavery and his freedom was such a new concept, yet it fulfilled him. She shuddered in orgasm and he did not slow and she whimpered as her sensitive sex adjusted. Another orgasm built. Dyana never knew she could come so many times at once, but she was, with Jolon at that moment, in a constant state of ecstasy.
As the music outside built, voices joining together in a thunderous, melodic beat, Jolon finally came. They both lay back on the bed, exhausted and amazed.
“That was incredible,” Dyana whispered.
“Yes, Dyana.” He took her hand in his. “Sleep here tonight.”
“It would be an honor.”