04 June 2017

[New Release] LITTLE MISS TRESS by Tressa Rabbit @lolasblogtours #Excerpt #Giveaway

#NewRelease

Little Miss Tress
Tressa Rabbit

Release Date: 10 June, 2017
Genre: Erotica/ contemporary/ quirky/ kinky romance

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Blurb
Little Miss Tress: Diary of a Submissive Switch
It all began with this personal ad: “Dominant woman seeks submissive, ‘not whiny,’ male submissive.” The rules were simple. She would earn his trust and he would submit completely—his mind, body and soul—to her every fantasy. He called it a “normal fetish.” She laughed, because she knew better. She also knew to go slow. They would of course have all the time in the world to discover endless moments of pleasure and pain. Normal? Most certainly not. He would learn. She would be sure of it.
She told him to pull out a marker. What she didn’t anticipate was August Sundry pulling out a few tricks of his own. And so, after a failed attempt at “love” with submissive August, Tress Rabbit has come to accept that both her Master and her own dominant side are forever lost. And so, it begins again with another ad. But Tress isn’t the kind of girl to give up so easily. This time, she will seek a man with whom she can explore the best of both worlds.
It begins with another ad, for a ‘forever Daddy.’ The deal is simple. He will earn her trust and she will submit completely—her mind, body and soul—to his every fantasy. He promised to be gentle. He said he wasn’t sure he knew what he was doing. She giggled, because she could see it in him; the Daddy Dom. She agreed to be patient, but failed miserably. After all, it’s hard for little girls to sit still for forty-seven minutes, let alone a lifetime. But she’d try: For her happy ending. For Daddy.
Little Miss Tress is a (mostly) true to life, living document capturing an age play relationship from its first encounter through to total submission. It offers readers a rare glimpse into the dynamic of a Daddy Dom/little girl relationship – giving insight into what drives age- play preferences and needs. Written entirely uncensored, Little Miss Tress and the "Daddy & Me" series turns on both the sugar and the spice.
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I pack my hard, black suitcase. The keys are still inside it, from my days with Rich. I never bothered to lock it. I have a pink case for Tilly. I make it clear to all my partners that the box is not to be touched. I wouldn’t sleep with anyone I didn’t think I could trust. Besides, I’d know if someone had been in there. I’ve lined it in gray felt. From it hangs a hand mirror and black rubber flogger with a wooden black handle, ribbed, for his pleasure. Inside, the box, as plain as any lock box I’d use for transporting client files to and from the office, hosts a myriad of odds and ends. A permanent red marker, hand lotion, four types of lube—one flavored green apple, my favorite to taste—gum, razors, scissors, a lighter, three bottles of mascara. I push these items to the side, digging beneath them to find a rubber dildo, a pink garter belt, and a pink g-string; all brand-spanking new. Perhaps, I should take him out to dinner. I grin.

This part, the sex, the preparation, the creative planning: It’s the easy part. What’s not as easy is managing the emotions that go along with all of this. People might think a man like August would be easy. That I’d be able to get him to fall in love with me with a simple command. They’d view him as weak. I mean, he is willing to wear those panties out to Applebees, right? But they don’t understand how complicated these relationships can be. This is something I fully understand, both as a psychologist and as a switch.

Yes, I’m after August’s submission. For many dominants, that would be enough. They want to get in, play hard, get the power they crave, and get out. I don’t work that way. I want to slowly earn his trust, and eventually own his heart. I want to become his world, the thing that his moods, thrills, pains, and dreams are centered on. Is it crazy? Perhaps. Is it too much pressure? Sometimes. But it’s what I want. No, it’s what I need. And August isn’t going to be easy.

August thinks I’m trying to play with his mind. I guess, in a way he’s right. Hearing about how his family treated him has me thinking of him as a project. I want to help him. I want him to see what I see in him. I want him to feel good about himself so he can finally face the world and feel good about himself. He deserves that. We all do. I’m a softy for the underdog. After all, I’m one too. There’s nothing I want more than to teach August that some people can be trusted with secrets. I want him to know that I accept him, as he is, kinks, flaws, crazy and all. Eventually, there will even be love. I say as much but he doesn’t believe me. It’s okay. It’s nothing that can’t be fixed with time and a whole lot of action.

By day two of pretty much non-stop communication, it became clear to me that August has an issue with the word ‘love’. His trust is even more damaged, I decided. He admits this. I see it as a challenge. For weeks, I played with it, to see how far lost he was. You can’t help someone find their way home if you don’t know where they live or how they are broken. I started by testing him. I’d say things like, “have a nice day, Love.” Anything with the word love attached to it was something he’d ignore. Later, that same day, the say he had trouble at work with the layoffs, I sent him an email telling him how much I appreciated him. I asked if he loved Cuntchel. He ignored the question. Something told me that he’s been very hurt. I am going to lay off on the word love, for now. Then again, I reminded myself, it is my job to push a sub to his limit. I’ll talk to Tilly about this and see what she thinks, I decide.

I shared some things about myself and my life with August today. I told him about my daughter, who died as an infant. I told him about struggles that my sons are having with girlfriends, school and social pressures. I did this through audio recordings. He still has trouble speaking with me on the phone. It makes me laugh that this is the same man who used the term “gorilla- fuck” via text message. But, then, he is a Gemini.

Something has wounded him. Between the missing self-esteem, his issues with love and being loved, and his need for constant approval; despite knowing he already has it, I am sure something is broken. I have no intentions of fixing it. You can take a glass vase and drop it. You can superglue the piece that broke off into the perfect spot and turn that crack against the wall, hoping no one notices it’s broken. You can ignore the crack and go on about your day. But every time you look at that vase, you will still know it’s broken. It will nag at you. Or, at least, it would at me. My intention with August is to display those cracks to the world and teach him that his cracks are beautiful. That they give him character and a story. We all have pain and are broken in some way or another. I don’t know where August’s broken. I know he is and I will turn him around and around and around, until I find the spot. And then, when I do, I will display it, proud. Not everything needs to be fixed. Sometimes, the best way is to admit it’s broken and love it anyway. That’s exactly what I will do. And, in time, he will do the same with me. That love, unconditional, will be bigger and more important than any form of submission I could ever hope or ask for.

I’ve asked him about it, this brokenness. He says he’s not good at expressing emotion because of a cold relationship with a father who thought men should only express two things—anger and disapproval. He’s close with his mother, but neither of his two siblings; a younger sister who has babies and an older brother who ran off to be a member of a gang. I haven’t asked him, yet, about romantic hurts. I have a feeling there will be more to the story as we move forward. Perhaps I’ll get it out of him while I wash his hair; a reward I might consider requesting for myself.

People think being the dominant is easy. They assume we are all narcissistic control freaks looking to throw our weight around and abuse others in the name of D/s. Nothing could be farther from the truth, for me. By day three with August, I almost threw in the towel. He was working and I’d sent him a variety of audio messages. The messages included steamy options for how he would like our first meeting to go. He could choose, I told him, like with the rewards, because he’d been such “a good boy.” He seemed excited about the idea, kind of. But things went downhill fast. One phone call and a limp dick later, I found myself in a place I never expected to be again. Not with or for a man: In tears.

August isn’t a great communicator. To be a mistress, you have to have a certain kind of confidence that you can’t expect to get through or by way of your submissive. Some would say that seeing a man on his knees, begging for your approval, love, or even touch, would do it. But I need to hear the words. They are words August doesn’t know and could never find the guts to say—not yet, anyway. I need to hear the same things back, that I’m wanted, that he is excited to meet, that I turn him on. Yet, I could not even get him hard during a phone conversation. That concerns me. He claims to be submissive, yet, I’m starting to have my doubts. This is a man who could take a picture, mid-stream, urinating, on demand, for me.

I’m not supposed to have doubts. I’m supposed to have confidence at all costs. I just don’t know how I’m going to pull this off. I asked him to send me a picture of his ass in the pants he was wearing, ones I knew would accentuate it in all the right ways. I was correct, too correct, and wasn’t prepared for my own reaction. I’m embarrassed now, about my lack of emotional control. How will I dominate a man like August? Too hot. Too sexy for average-old me. Just as he can’t find words to show he appreciates me or sees something—anything—beautiful about me, I can’t find them to describe this man’s body. The only one that comes to mind is art. His ass is like an apple in the heart of fall, dangerously close to falling off the tree. I want to bite it, hear the crunch. I want to toss it in the air and catch it. I want to slap it, spank it, bounce quarters on it. And yet, seeing it in a stupid photograph? It made me cry.

I do not cry. The last time I cried was when my dog died, a year ago. Now, I’m crying over a man’s ass. BDSM gets complicated, fast. Normally, I wouldn’t have told him. And I shouldn’t have. My confession of “I don’t think I can do this” sent him into a panic he didn’t need. I told him I would rectify it. I will, because that’s who I am and I don’t quit or give up. But I also see what a challenge it will be. Like it or not, he intimidates me. The last time I felt submissive to a man was in 1993. Today, as he tried to skip his lunch and said my name, not once, but over and over, to get my attention, I felt the switch. I can’t let that happen again. Not with August or anyone. I never want to go back there. As hard as being dominant is, being submissive is harder. I’m not that brave. August is. And, for that, for him, I will fix this. If he lets me.
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Tressa Rabbit   is a freelance writer with a taste for all things sugar and spice. She’s been published in numerous erotic anthologies, including “Penthouse Forums.” Little Miss Tress is her first full erotic age play BDSM novel. She is currently working on the last book in the “Daddy & Me” series, Mrs. Daddy. She is also author to several mainstream, vanilla novels under a different pen name.

A self-defined little brat and submissive switch, Tress is always open to new experiences and challenges in D/s power play relationships. She always kisses and tells. For now, when not occupied teasing Daddy, she’s busy thinking up ways to glitter bomb him and get his attention. She often still keeps him up all hours of the night. Usually, it works.

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