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Category: Erotica/BDSM Erotica
Description: "A Wonderful Erotic Story Teller!" That's how Sabrina Smith Moses, erotica poet and author, describes the work of Sascha Illyvich. While Sheryl in Out About New Books, raves, "A good read, all of the stories [are] highly entertaining as well as being a sensual delight." Now in his first ever all Female Dominant story collection, this brilliant author of contemporary erotica deftly mixes action, love, romance, power, sexuality, sensuality, pain, suffering, and a little soul bleeding. As Sascha Illyvich says, "My BDSM is still highly mental, designed to break down the barriers preventing us from acting on our true nature. Each story deals with personal growth." In these six unforgettable short stories you will meet men who find that the pain they suffer at their Mistress' hands can't compare to the pain they feel when she's not near them. "Sascha Illyvich," Sabrina Smith Moses writes, "is a wonderful, erotic storyteller. He turns you on and tugs your heartstrings- at the same time! I highly recommend his work!" [Revised with a new introeuction]
eBook Publisher: Renaissance E Books/Sizzler,
eBookwise Release Date: August 2012

Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [157 KB]
Words: 34756
Reading time: 99-139 min.

INTRODUCTION

Upon re-examination of this newly released collection, I've realized a few things about myself as an author and a human. One, I'm a sick fuck. If you've been with me through the release of my latest releases you've seen a shift in my kink.

While others are pushing for harder kinks to move boundaries, I've come back some. The reason for this has more to do with where my heart lies in both the Lifestyle and the books.

I'll always be an impact player; it's how I was trained to give and seek release, but the true test of a Dominant lies not with how well they wield a whip, but in how they use the control given to them by that trusted partner, the submissive.

Female dominants in particular know this role well. Being taught about the gender stereotypes and societal norms has forced women into a precarious position by which they are supposed to give up their independence (even in 2012) yet many do not seek that path.

The Female Dominant is a classic example of a type that strays from the norm, using her intuition and softness to smooth out the rough edges of her male partner, the submissive.

In these tales, I hope to express my fondness for the place I started in my journey to Alpha, while showing you the reader, another glimpse of who I was. I hope also to honor those who have trained me, those who I may meet and learn from, and those who are always here, even when I'm not.

Even more has changed since I started writing. I still honor said dear friend who passed away. I lost the Mistress I once had though I cherish what little memories I possess. The Mother of my soul is still a female dominant though a happily married one with a man who cherishes her collar daily.

Oh, and I've met a few more truly impressive people on my journey. And remembered I had an impressive friend cheering me on from before I was Sascha.

Thank you all from the bottom of my heart, your support, your gracious and kind words make this all worthwhile.

The rest of this message will consist of carefully selected by hand, words from the heart, with loving care that goes into all my products so that you feel a special connection.

I dedicate this collection of female dominance stories to you, my Female Dominant friends.

--Sascha Illyvich

DREAM FIRE

Sipping his scotch, Treize scanned the bar, a thin layer of cigarette smoke hung in the air over in one corner. From his vantage point at the corner of the oak bar, he sat observing patrons standing beside him, sitting, talking. Coming to this particular bar an hour ago was the only peace he'd had all day. Constant phone calls, impatient investors had him feeling on edge. It seemed everyone had a right to make demands on Treize lately, leaving him feeling bereaved when his day was done. All the attention was merely a distraction to bring a constant supply of cash flow into his corporations, and prepare for the family he someday hoped to have. The sad thing was, every day Treize left the office and returned to an empty house.

Alone.

Day in and day out, he'd returned to an empty house.

During his second drink, the door opened and a petite woman wearing red entered. The sexy skirt she wore came down to just below her knees, showing off tiny glimpses of calf that led to black heels.

She walked past, taking a seat three stools down from him. She pulled out a cigarette from a tiny purse he hadn't seen, asked the bartender for a light and took a drag.

Glancing at her, he felt a presence, a desire rushing through him. Without a reason, he ordered another scotch and walked over to where she sat.

"What can I do for you?" she turned her head to show him ruby red lips, ripe for kissing.

"You seemed interesting. I thought I should know you."

She sipped her drink, ice melting around the rim of the glass. Treize felt the familiar pull of lust deep in his loins.

Setting down the drink, he watched long manicured fingernails brush wisps of spiky red hair from her eyes.

His cell phone buzzed and he picked it up, quickly dismissing the call in favor of returning to the redhead.

Turning to her, "My name is Treize. What, may I ask, is yours?"

"Treize, that's different." She narrowed her gaze at him. The hair on his arms stood on end beneath his overcoat.

"I like to think so." Treize ran a hand through his dirty blonde hair and smiled.

"You can call me Paris, but if you're a good boy, I have other names."

"Interesting."

Even with the low lighting in the bar, Treize saw her eyes gleaming with lust. "Paris, would you like to come home with me?"

"My, you're a presumptuous fellow. What makes you think I'd like to go home with you, Treize?"

"Because I can see the desire to conquer me in your eyes."

Paris nodded. "You are a cute little upstart. Come home with me, instead."

"I would be happy to oblige."

Treize paid for the drinks, watching a smug smile appear on her face. Standing, he followed her, keeping his eyes focused on her entire body. She was tiny and curvy, the red velvet suit jacket she wore hung just over her round ass.

"Shall we take my car?"

"Arrogant man. No. Follow me."

Walking casually behind her, he followed her to a red two-seat mustang. "Nice."

Paris was silent, but he felt her heated, annoyed stare.

"Why did you single me out?" She put the car in gear and merged onto the highway.