Safeword – When to say No

Most people these days, thanks to Fifty Shades and other books about BDSM, have heard the term safeword. It’s a word normally employed by a “bottom” or “submissive” to stop whatever scene, session or activity they are involved in. It can be a word like red, and for some it can be a sound, like snapping your fingers. Cause if you’ve got a gag in…well you get my point. J

When I write BDSM stories, all of my characters (so far) have used a safeword. I like the idea of having a word that will call a halt to everything happening around them. No matter how emotional a scene, or physically demanding the sex is, there’s a way for each of my submissives to get out.

Why do I give them a safeword?

So they don’t use it.

On the surface, a safeword is a get out of jail free card. Sometimes literally depending on how tied up one of my characters is. Using a safeword is the ultimate safety net, but the meaning behind it gives my subs complete power.  They can take, or refuse anything their Dom(s) demand. Being strong enough to accept it to me is uber sexy.

Submitting involves more trust than most people can even comprehend. It’s scary and exhilarating and will leave the characters floating in a sea of sensation so poignant they’re hooked from the words, “Give me your hands.”

Having a safeword to use allows my characters to believe they are safe, that they can enjoy the scene but stay removed enough not to fall into the rabbit hole of BDSM. If they’re with the right person, there won’t be any stopping the fall.

So why would someone use a safeword? They’re scared. Overwhelmed. In pain. Notice I put pain last. That wasn’t an oversight. Pain can heighten a scene. It’s a way for a Dom to hyper-focus their submissive on a certain part of their body. It can aid a submissive in switching off their brain, allowing them to feel each and every touch as if it would be their last.

Something a lot more of us could benefit from.

That connection.

BDSM allows you to sink below the surface of vanilla into flavor after flavor of naughty excitement meant to curl your toes and steal your voice.

I want my submissive characters to be strong, vivacious, intelligent people able to stand toe-to-toe with their Doms everywhere including the bedroom.

Tied to a whipping bench, strapped to a table, or even suspended from a steel a-frame using nothing more than 6mm silk rope. In all of these scenarios the sub still has the power.

The minute their safeword enters the room everything is over.

What I love about erotic BDSM romance is the physical, emotional and sometimes spiritual connection the characters have. It’s that connection during sex that sets my heart racing. Trusting their Dom that they know what they crave even if they don’t think they’re strong enough to endure.

What is the ultimate power exchange?

Having a safeword…and not using it.

Members Only, Book One

She knows it’s wrong. Cyn shouldn’t have feelings for fraternal twins Jared and Chris, her best friends. She shouldn’t want them to tie her up or strap her down, to take her one at a time—or together. The only way to control her taboo desires is to write them down and lock them away in her diary. Guys like Jared and Chris could never be interested in someone like her, or in the kind of sex she craves.

But Jared and Chris have read her diary, and sweet little Cyn is in for the shock of her life. The brothers not only own a members-only BDSM club, they want her. Need her. And now, with their unlimited funds and an entire establishment devoted to fulfilling her darkest pleasures, they’re going to claim Cyn for their own.

Inside Scoop: If you have a kink, this book probably has it too. If you like your ménage romances extra hot with a side of male-male romance, spanking, voyeurism and girl-on-girl action, come and get it.

A Romantica® BDSM erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

Buy Links below and others on the TIC webpage

Amazon | Ellora’s Cave | Barnes and Noble

“So, Cyn, why aren’t you fucking anybody?”

I sucked a mouthful of beer down the wrong pipe, sputtered and coughed my way through it and nearly knocked over the glass bottle as I got it under control. The beer anyway. After wheezing through another breath, I moved my drink aside. The last thing I needed was a wet spot in my lap. “Where in the hell did that come from?”

Jared Kennedy, one of my best friends, glanced at my fingers as I worried a heart charm at the bottom of a silver chain. A knowing smirk tilted his lips when he glanced up again. “Come on. Nobody creaming your Twinkie at the moment or do you not like sex in general? We want to know. So don’t be shy, spit it out.”

The other half of the “we” he referred to was his fraternal twin Chris, who watched us across an empty dance floor and from behind their bar thirty feet away. Still anxiously working the pendant back and forth, I turned once more to Jared.

He leaned against his chair, forearms crossed over his broad chest, an expectant smile revealing bright-white teeth. The brothers had always done that. Known the right expression to make so I would answer anything. They acted broody or impatient and I’d give anything to make them happy. Pathetic—my middle name when it came to these two.

“I like it, J. As much as anybody does, I guess. Whether I like it to the same extent you and Chris do, I don’t know. Your appetites have always run on the high side according to the gossipmongers in town.” I squirmed in my seat. I admit it. One of my best friends was asking me if I liked sex and all I could think was…meh. My sex life…well, visualize the Titanic sinking and you get the gist. Most guys don’t appreciate being called another guy’s name—or two guys’ names—when you’re getting off. It’s a real deal breaker.

“Uh huh. It’s Saturday night and you’re here, like last night and the night before. Guys hit on you but you blow ’em off. You work at the gym all day and help out here anytime we ask. CJ’s has gotten damn busy and we dig the help but you’ve been restless lately and we’ve both noticed. What gives?”

Getting to work at the bar with both of them on a weekend was rare. One of them was normally MIA. But tonight? From the moment I stepped foot inside they were watching me. Shivers of awareness raced over my skin but I was too chicken to actually do anything about it. A blush slithered its way up my bare shoulders, crawled all over my failing willpower and flipped on a big neon sign above my head, flashing “Not Gettin’ Any”.

Jared and Chris knowing that my social calendar was on par with reservations at a leper colony just plain sucked. The three of us had been close for years but this was way beyond what my heart—and several other tingly parts—could handle.

“You’re hot. You haven’t been with anyone since Matt.”

Mild panic settled in the pit of my stomach because Jared wasn’t going to drop it. Thankfully my beer sat well out of reach.

“Not that it’s any of your business but who’s to say I’m not having sex every night and twice on Sundays?” I cocked a blonde eyebrow in his direction with a little sultry thrown in, with what I hoped was a sassy twist of my lips. That sass faded into scared rabbit when he gave me that look again. Same one he’d been giving me all night long. The one I’d seen for years and hated because it was never directed at me.

It was Jared on the make. My adrenal gland kicked into high gear. I was a little bit thrilled and a whole lot terrified.

He was always the comedian. He’d played pranks on me any chance he could but this was no joke.

His gaze remained locked on me and his blue eyes, shadowed by thick lashes, taunted me with sexual promise. Female residents of our fair city of Arcadia had spent years fantasizing over his tanned skin and muscled frame. Right at the height of my ogling, he speared long fingers through his blond, sun-streaked hair. It wasn’t long enough to negate any of his rugged appeal but it was far from the military cut he’d worn for years. Currently, it was perfect to hold on to for a nice long ride.

As his hair fell across his brow, he leaned onto the table to grab his beer. He grazed my arm on the way and I locked my muscles up good and tight to suppress another shiver. My reaction to them? Spontaneous combustion.

But tonight was different. Tonight they’d noticed how I responded to them. They’d thrown logs on the smoldering fire every chance they got. Touching me, teasing me. Staring at me as if they knew how wet I was. For them. Only them.

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Bio –

Jennifer Kacey is a wife, mother, and business owner living with her family in Texas. She sings in the shower, plays piano in her dreams, and has to have a different color of nail polish every week. The best advice she’s ever been given? Find the real you and never settle for anything less.