Geoffrey's Rules, my most personal book, discounted this month!

Geoffrey's Rules is very near to my heart. The narrator, Chloe Revkin, has a great many similarities to me, and her story is a story I have dreamed of living many, many times. In fact, the book ended up being a more mature version of the very first really extended erotic story I ever wrote, in which a professor sells a young woman--with the young woman's consent--to a wealthy man. That story was called "Variations on a theme of Réage" (Pauline Réage, author of Story of O). Geoffrey's Rules could definitely have that as a subtitle.

Here's a taste, from a scene of which I'm very proud.

I felt sexy; I felt sexy in a way that graduate students aren’t supposed to feel, I thought, and that very thought began to cause another dampness problem in the lace thong beneath the dress. Try as I might, I just couldn’t make myself forget that underneath the dress I was wearing the lacy things that Geoffrey had put me in and which he would presumably remove from me later, whenever he wanted. 

I walked out of the dressing room, wearing also the red pumps we had shopped for before we’d had the champagne. The dress only barely came down far enough to cover my stocking-tops, and I had a sudden fantasy that when I reached Geoffrey at the sales counter he would simply flip up the front of it to reveal my lacy panties to the saleswoman. The mental image made me feel faint, but when I reached him, he turned and looked me up and down and smiled tenderly, as if to ask if I liked the dress. I returned the smile, and he put his arm around my waist and pulled me close in to him and kissed me. 

The saleswoman said, “Aw. Special occasion?” 

It only took a split-second for me to imagine Geoffrey saying, “Yes. This young woman got her face fucked today, and later she’ll have my cock in her ass,” and to blush. 

But Geoffrey said, “Yes—our first real date.” 

“Sounds like there’s a story there!” said the saleswoman and promptly minded her own business while Geoffrey kissed me again, dominantly, and made me feel weak in the knees yet another time. 

“You are the most intelligent woman I have ever had the privilege to dominate,” he whispered in my ear, “and the sexiest.” 

“Thank you, sir,” I whispered back, feeling like the defiant independent woman thing was perhaps not as important as Professor Whitlock might think.

And it's only $2.99 this month!