Free To Please a Lady by Raven McAllan Page A

Designed for three—to give ease of access and spectacular climaxes. With its own head and knee rests, fucking hole, and restraints. We will take great delight in showing you how it can be used for our delectation—”
    Hermione interjected swiftly. “ If I choose to be one of three.”
    He bowed his head. “But, of course, my dear. We will do naught you do not feel ready for, nor introduce the amazing and versatile toys we have at our command until you feel happy about the use of them. We have carved and creative objects designed to give you the greatest pleasure, in your cunt, your arse, wherever our cocks are not. We have ones for you to use in us, and so much more. There are delights and excitements galore for us to explore. So what say you?”
    Her head went to one side. The air in the room was still, waiting for this one, most important answer.
    “Well, to answer in order: I have a chair which serves me very well when neither of you choose to visit me. Your carved objects are, I presume, dildos.” She paused, obviously waiting for an answer. She received two nods and two reluctant chuckles. Truly, a pearl above any price, but still she had not answered the most important question of all.
    “So?” he prompted. Pray, she was not thinking to say, “snuff.”
    “So,” she parroted. “I have my own dildos, one for my pussy, one for my arse. Neither as magnificent as either of you, but more than adequate to fill me when needed. So the question is…am I to be satisfied with second best—no throbbing cocks, no thrill of hot, wet, hard bodies entwined and exhorting each to higher and greater delights? Having to tie my own legs to my chair to keep me wide and wanting that hardness inside me? I wonder, my lords, which will I choose? Truly there is no competition is there.”
    She paused and laughed and beckoned them toward her. They leaned forward to hear her decision…
    “Oh, my loves!”
     
     
    Biography
     

     
    Ever since I won not one but two Cadbury “Where does chocolate come from?” competitions in primary school, I was convinced one day I would write a book. Lots of books.
    My parents encouraged me. My schoolteachers despaired of me. (Evidently reading a story in your math class was not acceptable, even if you had finished the assignment!) Flowery. Romantic. Not factual. All leveled at me and all true. Hey, I loved weaving stories about anything and anyone.
    So what happened to my grand ideas? Life got in the way—as it does.
    A couple of truly awful manuscripts were sent off and duly—and rightfully—rejected. I gave up on my dreams.
    More years later than I’m prepared to disclose (hey, a woman has to have some secrets!), I realized I’d been writing as I thought I should, not as I could. It was my “eureka” moment.
    I dusted off my almost nonexistent typing skills and decided now was my chance. With more than a little coercion from my lovely crit group, Up and Coming Writers, I got typing. The ideas came fast and furious, and here I am, a published author.
    Married to my own hero (how cheesy is that?) after a couple of failed hero attempts, we live on the edge of a Scottish forest with two cats, three children, and a daughter-in-law as frequent visitors. And now two grandkids. Lucky or what?
    I write on my laptop in my study, watching the birds on the bird table, the strange, big, black, fluffy, I’m-pretending-to-be-a-bird cat, sitting on it and trying to convince the many real birds he is invisible, occasionally seeing deer and a red squirrel moving past. I am privileged.
    As a noncloset romantic, sometimes neurotic, and lover of words, I so enjoy getting involved with my hero and heroines. I hope you do too.