With all memory of her past erased, a young woman awakens to find that she has been transported to an all-female penal colony. She is held captive in a place where cells and iron bars are no longer needed to control prisoners. The penal colony is an island hierarchy and based on dominance and submission. Rose Wilder paints portraits of lives where the enticement of love and the horror of insanity exist side by side in a strange, futuristic world.
Some reader's comments -
- What a stunning imagination.
- Could almost feel the single tail and cane.
- I was totally captivated after a few paragraphs.
- The way RW portrays the delicate bond between Domme and sub is incredible.
- Rose makes her characters come alive.
- Never a dull minute and a pleasure to read.
EXTRACT
She found herself in the Jaguar E-like vehicle with her Mistress
driving and looking straight ahead, not paying any attention to her.
Her legs were held wide open with her feet bound to the rings embedded
in the floor and additional leather bands holding her knees apart. Her
hands were at her sides, encased in stiff mittens and fastened to some
sort of belt snugly encircling her waist.
She felt exposed and vulnerable and at the same time she was
comfortable and secure in the knowledge that her Mistress would
protect her and take care of her.
Suddenly there was a hand on her thigh…soft fingers…first caressing
the outside of her leg and then resting on her left knee, just above
the strip of leather holding her.
“Please, Mistress, don’t stop.” She whispered.
The hand left her knee and a finger was put in front of her lips. She
tried to kiss it but was not fast enough. Her eyes followed the hand
as it shifted gears and then rested on the lever, gently holding the
wooden knob, almost stroking it.
She stifled a frustrated sigh and stared at the strong fingers,
willing them back to her skin. She could already smell the arousal the
simple gesture had elicited between her thighs. Minutes passed like
hours. Once again there was a change in gears.
The hand returned to the steering wheel, her green eyes widened in
protest but there was nothing she could do, nothing. Her Mistress
obviously didn’t want her to talk or make any other noise. She had to
keep still.
Finally she closed her eyes in resignation and two heartbeats later
the hand returned, stroking the outside of her thigh with the back of
its fingers, starting high at the hip and traveling slowly towards the
knee. She didn’t dare to open her eyes, fearing the hand would leave
again.
A lone fingertip circled her kneecap and ventured to the inside of
her thigh. It slowly inched upwards, only a short distance, less than
the finger’s length. Then she felt a short fingernail on her eager
skin being dragged back to the knee. She wished she could open her
legs even wider than they were held. She wanted to invite the hand in
but she knew better than to even twitch. She didn’t want the hand to
go away.
The finger movement was repeated, time and again, touching more skin
with each passage. A second finger was added and then a third and a
fourth. She wanted to feel more of her Mistress, wanted her to press
those fingers hard into the soft skin, leaving marks that would brand
her as owned…but the touch stayed as light as a feather.
“Open your eyes and look, little one.”
She didn’t need a second invitation to drink in the sight of those
strong fingers playing with her. She was getting wetter by the minute
and her heart began to beat faster. The curled fingers stopped in
mid-movement during a downward stroke. The next moment her Mistress’
cool palm was lying fully on her warm flesh. The hand gently squeezed
her, still not having gone higher than mid-thigh.
She knew it was only a question of time but it was so hard to stay
still, so hard not to urge the hand on, so hard not to demand, not to
order more. But it also was deliciously right…a sweet torture that she
didn’t deserve after her appalling behaviour the night before.
